


My Heart is a Concert Hall

by E_Salvatore



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Amy/Bumper (mentioned), Barden Bellas - Freeform, Beca/Jesse (mentioned), F/M, lots of fluff, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore/pseuds/E_Salvatore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chronological timeline of Holle and Pieter's lives as they go about being complete rockstars of acapella and just life, in general.</p><p>Title courtesy of Florence + The Machine’s Conductor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**ONE**

**_All great musicians have legendary origin stories. Unfortunately, DSM’s happens to be ‘we did it for school’._ **

* * *

“For your final grade,” The professor announces five minutes before class is scheduled to end. “We have decided to do away with traditional tests. This is, after all, an arts school.” The news receives a mixed bag of reactions – the students in the back rows (the ones who are here on scholarships, who burst into song and dance whenever they feel like it) cheer and clap while the ones in the front (the ones who’ve had their noses buried in textbooks all along, as if singing and dancing and _music_ is something you can learn from a book) groan and try to change their lecturer’s mind. Stuck somewhere in the middle of the vast lecture hall, Holle finds herself equally torn between both reactions.

“Instead,” The man goes on, undeterred by the chaos he has wrought upon the class. “We will put to good use all that you have been taught. You will form performance groups with members from different disciplines – dance majors, vocalists, composers, and so forth. Together, you will work as a collective and perform entirely new routines at the end of each semester this year. We will grade you based on these performances.”

At the mere thought of a group project, the entire lecture hall groans in unison. Holle can feel a frown tugging at her lips. She will have to act quickly and put together a team of truly dedicated and hardworking students, before all the best are taken and she is left with the slackers who will do nothing but sit back and drag down the entire group with their dead weight.

“Come now,” Herr Hoffman cajoles the group of seniors. “You _are_ musicians, are you not? This will come to you naturally, more so than any paper I could ask you to write. And have I mentioned,” The professor’s eyes twinkle, though Holle wonders if perhaps she is the only one to notice as everyone else is otherwise distracted as they put away their things. “That there will be a reward for the group with the highest score?”

The lecture hall is abruptly plunged into a state of silence as students collectively stop forcing books and writing utensils into their bags. From the very back of the hall, a familiar voice rings out. “Well, out with it!”

“Rude,” Holle mutters under her breath. There is, perhaps, a hint of fondness in her voice.

Herr Hoffman frowns. “Manners, Herr Krämer!” He chides, which draws a round of snickers from the students in the back. The old man sighs in defeat. “Very well, then. Next summer, the German embassy in Spain will hold its annual festival, to better acquaint the Spanish with our culture.” Already the lecture hall is abuzz, students gasping and murmuring amongst themselves. They are all seasoned performers here; most had applied to the university _because_ of the ample opportunities it offers for students to gain actual experience in performing. But to represent their country in a foreign land would be an honor the likes of which have yet to be conferred upon them. Holle can see even the laziest members of their class suddenly sitting ramrod straight, eyes focused on the professor.

“At the end of the academic year, your performances – one at the end of each semester, as previously mentioned – will be taken into consideration and you will receive a single score.” Herr Hoffman explains. “The group with the highest marks will be invited to perform at the Spanish festival, and possibly a few others organized by our embassies.”

The murmurs turn into a storm of excited chattering, and when that same damnable familiar voice speaks up again, Holle notes that he has to raise his voice to be heard above the din. “Is it an all-expenses paid trip?”

A laugh ripples through the class but Holle remains quiet. She can feel eyes burning into her back; the fool is doing this on purpose and she won’t give him the satisfaction of being the one to turn around and seek him out.

“I suppose, Herr Krämer,” Their professor’s voice rumbles with laughter as well. “You will just have to find out for yourself. And now, class, you are dismissed. Have a good afternoon!”

And with the end of their first class this semester, Holle wins the game.

Nearly half of the students leap to their feet as soon as they are dismissed, snatching up their packed bags and filtering out of the lecture hall in groups of twos and fives and tens. Already Holle can see teams forming. With every passing second, her pool of candidates grows smaller. But she remains seated, taking her own sweet time to arrange her books, stack up the few loose sheets of paper, replace each pen cap… until the roar of a hundred students dies down and she can hear footsteps ringing out as they trace a path from the back of the hall to her row.

“Well, well, well,” Pieter smirks, his arms crossed. Holle says nothing, lets him have his moment as she shoulders her bag and approaches him. “Look who’s returned. Was Paris not good enough for you, then?”

“Paris was fine,” She shrugs, playing along. “The students were all so professional though; I could not find a single class buffoon to replace you, and I found I rather missed the free entertainment.”

He’s probably got at least a dozen replies lined up, but instead they bask in absolute silence for a beat, and then she’s grinning and stepping into his open arms. “Hello, you oaf,” Holle pulls back to kiss his cheek. “I see nearly six months apart have done little to cure you of your poor manners and bad sense of humor. Not to mention your acting skills; you were overdoing it, just right then.”

“It is a good thing that we are musicians then, not actors.” Pieter says very seriously. He manages to hold his mask for an impressive ten seconds before it crumples away to reveal laughing eyes and upturned lips. “But really,” An arm slings itself around her shoulders as they leave the lecture hall behind. “How was Paris?”

“Well, the education was wonderful, of course,” What else could she possibly say? The _Conservatoire de Paris_ is one of _the_ best conservatories around, and- “Honestly, I’m still surprised they accepted me for a semester.”

“Holle,” Pieter rolls his eyes. “There isn’t a school out there foolish enough to reject you. Surely you must know this by now.” She has her doubts at times, but Holle would rather not relive the experience of Pieter holding her by her shoulders and making her chant _I am the best_ at an ever-increasing volume until he was convinced he’d gotten the message into her head.

“Yes, of course,” She says instead, quickly plowing ahead to change the subject before Pieter can decide he doesn’t believe her. “Some of the students were almost as annoying as you, can you believe it?”

“Certainly that is an admirable feat,” Pieter commends. “Whatever could they have done to earn such ire?”

Holle shrugs off the hand still wrapped around her shoulders as they turn into the main hallway, bustling with students and teachers. Pieter stuffs his hand into his pocket, batting away a pang of disappointment at Holle’s easy rejection.

“They decided the bossy German needed a nickname,” Holle grumbles, completely oblivious to the shadow that flits across Pieter’s face for a mere two seconds. “So they took to calling me Kommissar for the entire semester.”

“Shouldn’t it be Kommissarin?” Pieter supplies as he files this little detail away for future use. He’s been trying to find Holle a nickname for three years now, and this is much more fitting than anything he’s come up with over the years.

“Exactly!” Holle huffs, exasperation clear in the set of her shoulders. “The idiots.”

“Well,” Pieter bumps her shoulder with his own. “At least that’s over with now. Now you are amongst your own once more, and there will be none of this silliness. We are, after all, a no-nonsense people.”

Holle laughs, a harsh bark of laughter yet genuine nonetheless. It is, perhaps, one of Pieter’s favorite sounds. “Pieter,” She shakes her head. “If that were true of all Germans, you would be immediately disqualified.”

“Are you implying that I am _silly_ , Fraulein Hensel?” Pieter fakes outrage at the notion.

“The silliest,” Holle nods, a warm fondness in her voice and her eyes as she stretches up on the tips of her toes to ruffle Pieter’s hair. It isn’t often that he leaves it long enough for her to have anything to ruffle, but the messy curls make an appearance once or twice a year, whenever Pieter is too caught up with other things to spare a visit to the barber. “Now come,” She says, slipping her arm through Pieter’s. “We must figure out what our group will be.”

“I am invited to be a part of your elite collective, then?” Pieter asks teasingly as Holle leads them to the dining hall.

“Don’t be silly,” She huffs, landing a slap on his arm. “You’re the only one I actually _want_ to work with.”

It’s times like these when he wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss his feelings for her; times like these when he wonders why they ever broke up in the first place. But that was so long ago now, and Pieter has had countless opportunities since to fix things. Whatever chance they had at salvaging that aspect of their relationship is probably long dead by now.

“Only because you worry I might defeat you otherwise,” He quips, choking down a thousand other things he could have said, should have said. “What is it the Americans say? Ah, yes: keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

“Pieter!” Holle beams at him, eyes dancing with mirth. “You actually got that one right.”

“Come now,” He glowers at her. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Holle suppresses a bout of laughter. “Don't pout,” She grins as they reach the dining hall and Pieter holds the door open for her. “Some surprise is well-deserved, don’t you think? You have a great fondness for nonsensical sayings, Pieter, but that does not bestow upon you a mastery over these odd phrases.”

“You know,” Pieter eyes her contemplatively as they claim their usual table, tucked away in a corner far from the crowd. “I am beginning to wonder if I ever missed you at all.”

“Oh, hush,” Holle waves dismissively. “Of course you did.” She drops her bag on the table, leaving her things in Pieter’s care while she gets them lunch.

Pieter sighs. “I suppose I did.” He’s quite hopeless when it comes to Holle. It’s turning into a problem, really.

But he can’t be bothered by it, especially when Holle skims a delicate hand along his shoulder as she walks by. “I missed you too, silly man.”

He would never think to call Holle _cruel_ , but what she unknowingly does to him can only be described as such, at times.

* * *

“Pieter?”

“Yes?” She’s living off-campus this year, and the fact that Holle hasn’t even jumped out of bed to shriek at him for breaking into her apartment and invading her bedroom makes Pieter wonder just what she’s got on that laptop screen of hers.

Holle’s eyes don’t leave the screen until Pieter invites himself into bed and flops on his belly, immediately taking up half of the mattress. “What are your thoughts,” She asks slowly, without sparing him a single disapproving look for his behavior. “Regarding acapella?”

Well, that explains quite a bit. “Is that what’s kept you so distracted these past few days?” Pieter wonders out loud, turning on his side to observe Holle. She nods, eyes betraying nervousness and uncertainty, emotions the likes of which Pieter rarely sees in her.

“It is a sound idea,” He says encouragingly. “Certainly something to set us apart from the other groups.”

“It gives us a wider pool of candidates,” Holle explains. “We could consider those who do not play instruments.” Her eyes are wary yet eager, and she can’t help but bite down on her lower lip while she watches Pieter turn the idea over in his head. It’s an awful habit of hers, a dead giveaway on the rare occasions she finds herself feeling nervous. She’ll get rid of it sooner or later.

“Alright then,” Pieter finally decides. Holle’s lips curve upwards as soon as he speaks. “Acapella it is. What did you have in mind?”

Holle turns her laptop around, motioning for Pieter to come closer. He hauls himself up with a sigh and mimics her cross-legged position, their backs leaning against her headboard. With their arms pressed against one another’s, Pieter can feel the way Holle is practically humming with excitement. It’s foreign to him, almost as if they’ve stumbled into a role-reversal of sorts. There is something strangely compelling about an excited Holle.

“This,” Holle tells him, clicking play on the video she’s pulled up. It’s labelled _ICCAs Semi-Finalists_ and on-screen, he sees a group of boys recreating hip-hop and rock music with nothing but their mouths. It’s a fresh take on acapella, but quite obviously an amateur attempt. “I want to do this,” Holle says. “But bigger, better-”

“That _does_ sound like you,” Pieter interrupts with a grin; Holle’s palpable enthusiasm for this idea is infectious. Already Pieter can tell this is what they’ll be doing for the next year; there is no talking her out of this and even if there were, he hasn’t the heart to. “How big are we thinking? Ten people? Fifteen, maybe?”

A sheepish smile draws the corners of her lips upwards. “I was thinking,” Holle shrugs, aiming for a casual tone. “Twenty?”

Twenty people. Choreography alone would be a nightmare, not to mention the actual acapella bit. They could barely get ten people to sing in harmony for their performance during freshman year, though Holle and Pieter had carried most of that number on their shoulders and their group went on to place at the top of their class anyway.

“You cannot be serious,” Pieter frowns, dimming his enthusiasm for the first time since Holle turned those smiling eyes upon him. “Holle, how are we supposed to get twenty people to perform in sync?”

“But _Pieter_ ,” Holle snaps her laptop shut and helps herself to a few inches of Pieter’s personal space, draping her arms around his neck. The woman has no concept of boundaries and while that had been enjoyable once upon a time (a very, very brief time and how he wishes it had lasted longer than a semester), now it just brings back old memories he’s spent three years trying to forget.

“Pieter,” She says, sliding her serious mask into place. “We need a bigger sound. And don’t tell me you think the two of us won’t be able to whip eighteen weak-willed students into shape. They’re bound to listen to one of us, at the very least. Probably me,” Holle shrugs, throwing in a little grin as she waits for Pieter’s verdict.

He sighs in defeat. How the hell is he supposed to say no to the woman when she looks at him like that? Not to mention the fact that her very toned, very muscular and probably deadly arms are wrapped around his neck. Best not to deny her anything, Pieter decides. “Twenty it is, then,” Holle’s already leaned forward to kiss his cheek before he’s done talking. “We can do it the American way; what do they call it? That thing where one policeman goes by the book and the other tries to intimidate their suspect.”

“Good cop, bad cop?” Holle supplies after a moment’s thought, disengaging her arms from around Pieter’s neck and pulling away from him to place a respectable distance between them once more. The gap between them is, as always, maintained solely by Holle. It is no ocean, barely a river, yet Pieter remains anchored to his side while Holle swings back and forth as she pleases, seemingly oblivious to his limited freedom of movement. “So long as it grants us a measure of authority over eighteen young troublemakers, I am agreeable to any tactic.”

Pieter sighs and flops on his belly once more, catching a glimpse of Holle’s amused smile at his antics. “Did you have anyone in mind? I could ask the guys if they want to work with us.” Like Holle, he too has decided to live off-campus this year, but he shares his living space with four housemates.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Holle shrugs, leaning against her headboard. “Oh, and whatever happened to Madeleine? She would make a fine addition.”

Well, what happened was that Madeleine had figured out she was Pieter’s rebound after he and Holle decided to end things, and she’d called things off in a rather dignified, mature way soon after Holle left for her semester abroad in London. _You are in love_ , Madeleine had informed him with a smile, _but not with me_. Of course, Holle can never know any of this. They had been seeing each other for three months when she first informed him she would be leaving for London within a fortnight and planned to make these trips a yearly occurrence, and so Pieter had choked down the words he’d meant to say ( _being with you is the happiest I’ve ever been_ ) and had instead agreed with Holle that long-distance relationships are never practical and they were better off starting over as friends when she returned from England.

“She is still around,” Pieter says instead, purposely vague. Madeleine is a rather nice person, and they get along as friends still. Her only flaw is that she tends to get over-involved in other people’s business and Pieter dreads the thought of her trying to fix his (non-existent; long dead) relationship with Holle. “You are certain you would like her to join us?”

Holle peers past her screen to study Pieter. “Is it alright with you? I would hate to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why would it make me uncomfortable?” Pieter fakes nonchalance, wondering in the back of his mind if he has anything to use against Madeleine. A little blackmail in exchange for her silence and a promise not to meddle in Pieter’s affairs seems fair to him. “You and I are alright, aren’t we?”

There is a moment’s hesitation before Holle nods, and it spurs equal measures of hope and worry in Pieter. Perhaps Holle isn’t as unaffected by their past as she pretends to be. But does that mean she still thinks fondly of their time together, or does it mean their history makes her uncomfortable?

“Yes, of course,” Holle nods belatedly, eyes fixed squarely on her laptop once more. “I’ll go ahead and contact her then, yes?”

A thought occurs to Pieter; a memory from a few days ago. “As you wish, Kommissar,” He grins, cutting through the unpleasant tension that taints the air between them.

“Damn it all,” Holle mutters, reaching for a pillow next to her. “I knew I should have kept that story to myself.”

A pillow to his face does nothing to discourage Pieter. And with his frequent use of that stupid nickname in front of their new teammates, it doesn’t take long before practically everyone starts calling her Kommissar.

At least it garners her that measure of authority she had hoped for.

* * *

"This is ridiculous,” Holle pants, collapsing to the ground as soon as she’s called practice to an end. Perhaps cramming twenty people into Pieter’s living room and making them sing and dance for hours on end was not the best of ideas, but it had been impossible to book one of the campus studios on such short notice. They’re really quite lucky to have any place for rehearsal at all. As it turns out, all four of Pieter’s housemates had ended up joining them and had offered up their house for rehearsal purposes. And as one would expect from five young men who spend most of their time focused on school, they hadn’t yet gotten around to furnishing their living room. It had been easy enough to push aside the TV and a handful of stuffed chairs to clear a space big enough for their use. “We might have to look into upgrading your air-conditioning. Or perhaps we could bring in a few standing fans.”

Towering over her, Pieter nods in agreement. “A minute,” He holds up a finger, and promptly disappears into the kitchen. Puzzled, Holle follows his path with her eyes for a brief moment before she turns her attention to their teammates as they slowly filter out of the house. Some choose to fall to the ground in a heap of aching vocal cords and sore muscles just as she has, and Holle surveys her ragtag group of singers with a certain sense of accomplishment. It had taken them less than two weeks to fill eighteen spots and organize a training schedule, and today’s practice went quite well, taking into consideration that it is only their first. They’ll be able to start working on arrangements and choreography for their end-of-semester performance sooner than she thought.

“Here,” Pieter appears out of nowhere, offering her a towel.

Holle holds up one end of the towel slung around her neck. “I already have one.” She points out.

“But that is not doing much,” Pieter sits down next to her and pulls her towel away, replacing it with his offering. It is unexpectedly cold, and Holle yelps at the sudden chill against her neck. The sting soon fades into a pleasantly cooling effect. “Better?”

“Much,” She sighs, uncomfortably aware of the curious eyes her shriek has drawn. At least everyone turns away as soon as they realize there is nothing to see. “But what is this?”

Pieter grins. “Frozen towel,” He informs her. “I suppose I could have warned you.”

“Ass,” Holle swats at his arm, putting in only the bare minimum of force required to land a hit. “But thank you. I’ll be needing a lot of these throughout the next year.”

“I will see to it that you get all the frozen towels your sweaty body desires. That reminds me,” Pieter speaks up after a moment’s pause between sentences, picking at Holle’s discarded towel in his hands. “Where are you going this year?” He can’t quite remember where Holle plans to spend her semester abroad this year. She’d gone to London’s Royal Academy of Music during their first year, spent a semester at the famed Moscow Conservatory the next and had just gotten back from Paris this summer. Pieter vaguely remembers something about Denmark for this year and a comment about practicing her Danish, as if any of Holle’s eight languages need brushing up on.

“This year?” Holle stares blankly at him for a brief moment before it clicks. “Oh, you mean my exchange semester. Well, I can’t exactly go anywhere now, can I? Herr Hoffman said our final grade takes into account all of our performances, and I would miss one of those if I were to leave for a semester.”

Funny, how that had entirely slipped Pieter’s mind. “You mean… you’re staying, this year?” Not that it changes anything; even with Holle here for the next year, they’ll be graduating soon enough. Pieter has put enough thought into this to know that their lives will probably take them in very, very different directions. Still, it is a pleasant surprise.

Holle nods grimly. “I fear you are stuck with me for the entire year, and I with you. It will be a miracle if we survive with our sanity intact.” She jests.

“Intact?” Pieter grins. “Truly, that would be a miracle. I do not believe I was ever fully sane.”

“That would explain an awful lot,” Holle finally breaks into a smile, bumping Pieter’s shoulder with her own. Pieter laughs and pulls the both of them up to their feet, reminding Holle that the day isn’t over just yet and they’ll be late for a shared class if they don’t get showered and dressed soon.

He doesn’t mention that losing what little sanity he has left is an acceptable price to pay for the chance to spend the rest of their senior year together, because sometimes Pieter disgusts even himself with his sappiness.

* * *

“Shit,” Pieter hisses one day, completely out of the blue. They’re six days away from their first performance and there is no doubt that they will out-perform the others. Their harmony is perfect, their choreography mind-blowing, their arrangement a number bound to revolutionize acapella. Yet somehow, they have managed to overlook perhaps one of the most basic things a group needs: a name.

“What is it now?” Holle laughs, setting aside her book. Pieter can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard her laugh this month, and that makes it all the more precious to him. Their friendship has been a little strained of late, as Holle begins living up to her nickname (a title, now) and becomes every inch the consummate professional, pushing her team to perfection with each barked order, commanding glance and encouraging nod. But the more she pulls back in public, the closer she inches towards Pieter during what little downtime they manage to spend together. It is utterly perplexing and not at all something Pieter is about to question.

Today, they sit with Holle’s back to her headboard and Pieter’s head in her lap, a book in her hand and a phone in his. His sudden outburst draws Holle’s attention, and now she watches him with amused eyes.

“We’ve completely messed up,” Pieter tells her very seriously, prompting Holle to unceremoniously cast him off her lap.

“What?” She demands, crossing her legs as Pieter assumes the same position and faces her. “What could we have missed?”

Pieter pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales heavily, even smacks his forehead with an open palm. “A name, Holle,” He points out. “We don’t have a name.”

Holle laughs, dismissing his concerns. “You melodramatic little _actor_ ,” She says teasingly. It was just _that one time_ when a friend of his needed an extra in his play and Pieter had a grand total of two lines but damn it, she’s never going to let him live that down, will she? Holle stretches back into her former position and even reaches for her book. Pieter watches incredulously, stunned speechless.

“Well?” He demands with a huff. “What are we going to do? We are a week away from our first performance and we can hardly introduce ourselves by our names. There are _twenty_ of us, Holle. It would take forever.”

“We have a name,” Holle says simply, eyes already focused on her page. She obliges Pieter with a clearer answer and an eye-roll when he motions for her to continue. “Das Sound Machine. It is a fitting name for an acapella group, don’t you think? We _are_ a sound machine of sorts.”

Pieter gapes at her. “Is that English? And when were you going to tell me?”

“Well, we can hardly expect foreigners to memorize a German name,” Holle shrugs. “Imagine the Spanish people tripping over our words when they introduce us at the festival.” It is a wonder, how well Holle wears over-confidence these days. But is it arrogance if one has the means to support their claim?

He understands her logic, but then – “Why not The Sound Machine, in that case?”

“It sounds more exotic this way,” Holle points out. “People love that. It makes them feel superior somehow, to show off their taste for foreign music.” The thought leaves a bad taste in her mouth and causes her to scrunch up her nose for two seconds. People can be unpleasant at times.

“I suppose…” Pieter agrees dubiously, dropping his head back into Holle’s lap. From the way she keeps on reading and doesn’t make a single move to acknowledge him, one would think she hadn’t even noticed. It’s a precious thing, this easy intimacy between them. “Have you talked about this with the others?” He asks, picking up his phone once more. If he can just get past this next level…

“Hmm,” She hums distractedly. “A few of them have asked, and so we discussed this. Devon has a few suggestions for a logo of sorts.”

“Of course he does,” Pieter mumbles. Their designated lead beatboxer and Pieter’s housemate has a certain artistic flair. His entire room is covered with doodles; they’ll have to repaint the walls when they move out.

“He’s working with a diamond theme,” Holle supplies, turning to the next page. She’s almost at the end now, evidence of a day off well-spent. “Something about us taking raw talent and polishing it, I think he said.”

Pieter acknowledges her with a contemplative hum, and they let a comfortable silence blanket them as Holle focuses on the last few pages of her book and Pieter makes it through a few rounds of his mind-numbing game. It’s relaxing, really, but Holle claims to prefer her method of unwinding. How she rests her brain by reading Russian epics, he’ll never know.

When fingers start running through his short hair, close enough to scratch at his scalp, it’s a clear sign that Holle has finished her book and her wandering mind allows her hand to do as it pleases without giving it much thought. He’s about to suggest that they decide on what to have for dinner when Holle speaks up.

“Pieter?”

He sets his phone down and grants her his full attention, but Holle’s eyes are fixed on the window across the room. “Yes?” He prompts her to go on.

“I like what we have,” Holle sighs, fingers ceasing their movement in his hair. Her eyes meet his then, and her smile is a small thing but it is bright enough to replace the sun’s fading light as it sets. She hasn’t smiled at him this way in years. “But I prefer how we used to be.”

And then she leans down to kiss him, because leave it to Holle to one-up Pieter’s years of hinting and dancing around her by just swooping in and making the (second) first move.

The fact that it’s taken her nearly three years to finally close the gap between them couldn’t possibly matter less in that moment. And then there’s graduation and real life and separate paths looming over them, but Pieter’s regretted doing the practical thing and letting her go ever since the day she boarded that first flight away from him. So he kisses her back until the sun sets, and then they have dinner in her tiny kitchen and somewhere along the line, they come to an unspoken agreement to just take things one day at a time because screw practicality and planning and everything that tore them apart in the first place.

Somehow, it all works out. They spend the next year making up for lost time, and then they end up performing together (the German embassy tour, Pieter calls it) for the summer along with DSM (leave it to the audience to come up with something they can chant) and of course Holle manages to talk everyone into giving this an actual shot and competing professionally, thus binding their lifelines together for the foreseeable future.

DSM’s origin story might not be much ( _it was an assignment in university)_ but urban myth quickly paints them as acapella gods of sorts with Holle and Pieter at the helm of things, playing Zeus and Hera, Odinn and Frigg, Beyonce and Jay-Z.

That last one is Pieter’s favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the first in a series of short one-shots. Ha. I’ve apparently gotten extremely long-winded overnight, so I think most of these are going to be a mess of too many unnecessary words and too little action. But if you ship these two and you’ve got the willpower to stick it out and sift through these piles of words, I hope you find a little something in each chapter to make reading this a worthwhile experience.
> 
> I promised a few people I’d have this up by last week, so I’m a bit past my self-imposed deadline. It’s just been a rough few days and it ended with the passing of my puppy, Theodora. So if anyone needs me, I’ll be in a corner, alternating between staring off into space, ugly crying and writing fanfic to distract myself.


	2. Two

**TWO**

**_It isn’t uncommon to find them hard at work long after practice is over, but a snowy December evening causes Holle and Pieter to spend way more time at DSM’s headquarters than necessary._ **

* * *

While it is true that the World Acapella Championship is only held once every four years, most people tend to forget about the many tedious hurdles a group must first successfully navigate in order to qualify for the competition. And even without the Worlds to take into consideration and prepare for, there are still a number of other competitions a group can participate in to secure their top ranking: the Global Acapella Competition, the Worldwide Acapella Sing-Offs and a dozen others or so. The fact is that there is no official governing body when it comes to acapella and so there is no one contest to determine the best group.

All of which is to say that DSM likes to enter and win most of these competitions, just to be sure. Holle does so enjoy being able to truthfully state that DSM is the best there is. The only downside is that between victory tours, paid performances and constant rehearsals to practice new numbers to win more competitions that will lead to more victory tours and more paid performances, time off is almost unheard of among the members of the collective. But with Christmas fast approaching and winter particularly biting this year, Holle has no choice but to end practice early today and send her performers packing.

“Two weeks off and not a day more,” She reminds the others as they shuffle off to pack their things and gather their coats. “I expect all of you back here by the third of January. We will have ten days to perfect our routine for our performance on the thirteenth, two days off after that and then we will begin working on a new arrangement for the Valentine’s Day party we have been asked to sing at.”

To their credit, none of her singers show any sign of displeasure at the reminder of the work that awaits them. Some nod, others promise to be back and hard at work the minute their two weeks are over and nearly everyone wishes her a merry Christmas and a happy new year with a genuine smile as they leave the dance studio.

“Am I too hard on them?” Holle wonders nevertheless, voicing her question out loud as the glass doors close behind the last of their altos.

“They are used to it by now, I would imagine,” Pieter assures her from across the open space, approaching her with a towel and a bottle of water. “Most of them are every bit as bad as you; I should think they enjoy the endless work.”

Holle uncaps the bottle and downs a third of it in one go. “I do not _enjoy_ the endless work,” She protests. “There is simply a lot to be done, and I happen to be in charge of most of it.”

“You are constantly putting together new set lists,” Pieter retorts. “We have enough of those to last us a full year, at the very least. You think of new choreography _in the kitchen_ , Holle. And don’t think it’s escaped my notice that you are mentally running numbers in your mind whenever we go to the movies.”

“Perhaps if you chose more interesting films to watch, I would not be driven to do calculations in my head,” Holle teases, conceding the point. “But speaking of new choreography,” She quickly tacks on, ignoring Pieter’s exasperated groan. “I’ve just received word from our sponsors regarding the Valentine’s Day performance.”

“Out with it, then,” Pieter sighs in defeat, giving up on his plans to drag Holle out of the studio before sunset and get her to have dinner at a reasonable hour. They’ll probably be stuck ironing out new moves for the next two hours at least. At this point, he can only hope they don’t get snowed in. “Are we still doing the Iron Throne move as our grand finale, at least?”

The Iron Throne move, as Pieter has dubbed it, involves the rest of the group arranging themselves in order to resemble the famed throne from the series as they harmonize the final notes of the opening theme to Game of Thrones while Holle pretends to sit on the ‘throne’. It is utterly embarrassing and, just as Pieter had predicted, a huge hit with their sponsors. “Yes,” She sighs, ignoring Pieter’s fist-pump. “The two representatives who sat in on our rehearsals sent a video to our liaison, and we have been asked to ensure that particular bit of our performance makes it to the stage.”

“I told you they would love it,” Pieter grins. “Everyone loves Game of Thrones.” Holle cannot deny that the show is ridiculously popular, especially for a series that had just finished its first season a few months ago. Despite Pieter’s continued attempts however, she hasn’t been able to sit herself down and really concentrate on the show. What little free time she has is best spent on set arrangements, choreography, arranging performances… in other words: work. Pieter might have a point about her workaholic tendencies, after all.

“I would wipe that smile off my face if I were you,” Holle cautions, redirecting the conversation back to her main point. “They are pleased with the Game of Thrones number, but they have also made a specific request of us.”

“Come now,” Pieter frowns as he snatches the bottle of water from her hands and proceeds to drain it. “It cannot be anything too difficult to accommodate. For Halloween they merely asked that we wear heavy make-up and masks.”

Holle grimaces in distaste. “It was ‘seasonally appropriate’,” She parrots the words mockingly, thinking of the hour it had taken Pieter and her to remove each other’s excess of eyeliner when they’d gotten home that night. The rest of DSM had gotten away with easily-removed masks but as team leaders and the group’s most recognizable faces, the two of them had not been allowed to hide under disguises. Instead, they were made to hide under ten layers of make-up. “But that was bearable; merely a matter of our appearance. This time the fools have asked that we amend our performance itself to better reflect the holiday.”

The tragedy here is that Holle had actually been quite fond of Valentine’s Day before this debacle. Perhaps it can be attributed to the fact that she’s spent most February the fourteenths with Pieter and so she associates the day with bad romantic comedies, an excuse to make Pieter buy her chocolates and too many jokes at the expense of other couples happily celebrating in public but yes, the Kommissar actually enjoyed this commercial, sappy holiday. This year, however, any fond memories she might have of drinking games and bad American movies have been tainted by the looming horror of a Valentine’s Day performance. It is a deal she had willingly made, of course: they would be freed of their usual Christmas obligations in exchange for a Valentine’s Day performance. And Pieter had even found a way to make the whole thing bearable, by making half of their performance a tribute to a show about murder, incest and backstabbing. Unfortunately, even that wasn’t enough.

“They have asked,” Holle crosses her arms. “That we include a more romantic song,” And she briefly scrunches up her face here, just long enough for Pieter to reach out and tap her nose, “ _And_ find a way to work in a slow dance.” She swats at Pieter’s offending hand.

Pieter considers her for a moment. “Is that all, then?”

“Excuse me?” She blinks, incredulous. “Pieter, were you paying attention to what I just said? The idiots have asked that we rework our entire arrangement _and slow dance_. We do _not_ slow dance. We move in perfectly synchronized interpretive dance.”

“You and I slow dance,” Pieter shrugs, entirely missing the point. How in the world are they to deliver a performance that starts off slow and sappy and seamlessly transitions into the Game of Thrones theme?

She intends to snap at Pieter and get him to focus, but Holle ends up prolonging the conversation. “That was at your sister’s wedding and your parents’ anniversary. We didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“And so we find ourselves in exactly the same situation for the third time,” Pieter points out as he pulls at the towel around Holle’s neck. He sets the towel and the empty bottle down on the floor and leads a perplexed Holle to the center of the practice area. “Speaking of my family-”

“What are you doing?” Holle asks, interrupting him when one hand comes to rest on her waist.

“Slow dancing,” He tells her easily, as if it makes all the sense in the world. “Now, speaking of my family, my mother-”

“Pieter,” She frowns in lieu of a properly-worded protest. “What is the point of this? It makes no sense for us to dance without music, and we have yet to find a song we can work into our routine.” Oddly enough, Holle does not put an end to the dance herself.

“Humor me,” Pieter requests as they dance on. “Besides, it has been nearly two years since my sister’s wedding. We could use some practice, don’t you think?”

Holle hums wordlessly; it’s not quite an agreement, but she makes no move to pull away from Pieter and so they keep practicing. “You know,” She muses out loud after a minute or two of comfortable silence, during which her hands had somehow ended up wound around Pieter’s neck. “I think I liked you better when you were a lovesick fool who listened to my every word. Young Pieter would have helped me think of a way to salvage our set.”

Pieter grins and shakes his head at her. “You cannot lie to me, Liebling,” He sounds unbearably smug, and Holle loosens her grip on him to put some distance between them. “I know for a fact that one of your favorite things about us is that we stand on equal footing.”

It _is_ true, but Holle is certain she has never said as much to Pieter and as perceptive as he can sometimes be, this is not something he would have picked up on. “And who told you that?” She asks, head questioningly tilted to the side.

“You did, actually,” Pieter claims.

“That cannot be,” Holle tells him. “I love a great many things about you and us, but we both know I do not speak of such matters.” It is a good thing that Holle is so physically affectionate because if it were up to words alone, theirs would be a cold, one-sided relationship. After having spent the first two decades of her life as emotionally distant as everyone else in her family, it is a wonder that she is even capable of saying the words _I love you_ to Pieter.

“Of course you don’t,” He agrees nonchalantly, “except for when you’re drunk.”

“Pieter-” She laughs, a short exhale of amusement and disbelief.

“You don’t get drunk, I know,” Pieter dutifully completes her sentence. “But do you remember the last time we spent Christmas with my family?” Knowing that Holle can’t possibly recall the day in its entirety, he fills in the blanks. “After almost everyone had gone to sleep, my mother cornered you while I was on the phone and pestered you for grandchildren. I found you and a half-empty bottle of vodka in the kitchen ten minutes later.”

Well, that explains a lot. “Oh,” Holle says, for lack of an appropriate reply. When seconds pass and it becomes apparent that Pieter has nothing to add to his tale, she leans in and wraps her arms around his neck once more. Somehow their dance has reached a natural end, and they prolong it by swaying in a small circle. There is so little footwork involved that Holle doubts it can be called a dance at all.

Pieter makes another attempt at conversation. “As I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted me _twice_ : speaking of my family, they’ve invited us over for Christmas. Shall we accept?”

Given the newly-unearthed nugget of information regarding the last time she had spent Christmas with the Krämer family, it is perhaps understandable that Holle has certain reservations when it comes to the idea of spending the holidays with Pieter’s family. “Well, it would be rude to miss Christmas for the third year in a row, I suppose,” Holle says, conveniently side-stepping an actual answer.

The entire point of agreeing to the Valentine’s Day trade-off had been to allow DSM’s members to spend Christmas with their families and friends after three years of being put to work on the holiday itself. But with the way things are going, Holle is confident this will be their first _and_ last Valentine’s Day performance, so who knows when they’ll next get to take some time off for Christmas? Besides, she likes Pieter’s family; really, she does, even though they both agree it can be quite exhausting to deal with the entire Krämer brood at times.

Holle thinks of her own family, and the invitation her mother had extended to her. _You know, we do have_ one _seat to spare at the dining table,_ she’d said over the phone last week. _Your father would love to have you_ _around_ , her mother had claimed when they’d run into each other earlier this month. And then, a note penned in elegant cursive at the very bottom of the invitation Holle had received four days ago: _we’re doing something more intimate this year, only family._

In other words: _don’t bring that boyfriend of yours._

Pieter’s chuckle drags Holle away from her thoughts and back to the present. “We should have just done the Christmas performance, yes? It would have been a good excuse to get out of sharing a table with my sister’s children.”

“Your nieces would be devastated if they heard that,” Holle chastises him, but she can’t help the laugh that bubbles past her lips. They’ve been absent from Christmas dinners for the past three years but Pieter’s mother had managed to guilt them into joining the family for a meal five months ago, and the three-year-old twins had entertained themselves by pelting their favorite (as Pieter often brags) and only (as Holle often reminds him) uncle with what should have been their dinner. For reasons unknown, the little angels had spared Holle from their flying vegetables.

“Little monsters,” Pieter mutters fondly. “I would have paid a good amount of money to see them fling their mashed potatoes at you. Alas,” He laments with a sigh. “You intimidate even children, Kommissar.”

“They are not _scared_ of me,” Holle protests. “We have a mutual respect for each other. It also helps that I address them by name, and not with those awful nicknames of yours.” _Little monsters_ is mild compared to Pieter’s usual assortment of _goblins, trolls_ and perhaps the most hated of all: _tiny people._

Pieter snorts. “They love those names,” He says, ignoring the skeptical look in Holle’s eyes. “Now, are we going or not? My mother wants you to know that she is not above bribing you with all of your favorite dishes if that will convince you to come along.”

“Oh, alright,” Holle sighs, putting an end to their dance as she unwinds her arms from around Pieter’s neck and pulls away from his hold on her waist. “How could I say no to that?”

“I’ll call and let her know,” Pieter grins, eyes lit up with excitement. He practically sprints across the room to the corner where his and Holle’s bags are, rooting around for his cellphone. Holle trails after him and proceeds to sit cross-legged on the floor. She locates her own phone and checks for messages while Pieter ends up tapping out a short text to his mother when she fails to pick up her phone.

“Thank you,” Pieter leans down and presses a kiss to Holle’s forehead. “I know it can be unbearable at times, to have so many of us crammed under one roof and all of us clamoring for your attention.” He’s exaggerating, but only by a bit. It does seem like nearly everyone wants to talk to Holle whenever she’s around; his mother had slapped him on the wrist and reminded him of the values of sharing when Pieter had voiced this observation out loud once, before she swiftly turned back to Holle and started on another embarrassing tale about his childhood.

“Don’t be foolish,” Holle frowns as Pieter sits down next to her. “I did not agree to this for your sake alone. As it so happens, I quite enjoy the chaos of a proper family Christmas.” As a child, Christmas had meant to Holle a new and horribly uncomfortable dress, at least four hours of behaving herself in front of important strangers and in later years, obliging her parents when they asked her to play a carol or two on the piano so that they could show her off like another antique vase or diamond necklace. Though it had at times felt like a hardship only she had to shoulder, her early years were nearly identical to those of hundreds of other children born into wealthy families. But even knowing that she was, all things considered, quite fortunate did not stop her from yearning for the kind of Christmas frequently depicted in the American movies her father made her watch to rid her of her accent. It was, like most of her other wishes, something young Holle had quickly learned to cast aside and forget about.

Nearly a decade later, Pieter had shown up in her apartment two days before Christmas their senior year, shortly after they’d started dating again. He sat her down and begged her not to freak out, even insisted on extracting an actual promise from Holle ( _Pieter, you idiot, let go of me. Yes, alright, I promise not to run – unless you get on one knee. I swear, if you ask me- oh, you’re not? Good. Well, what else was I supposed to think?)_ before he extended an invitation to his family’s Christmas celebration, on behalf of his mother. That year, Holle finally experienced the kind of Christmas she’d nearly forgotten existed: loud, chaotic, migraine-inducing and filled with more warmth and love than any holiday movie.

Of course, this isn’t something she thinks Pieter needs to know. “Besides,” Holle says instead, deliberately keeping her eyes on her phone as her lips curve upwards. “Your mother promised to dig up your baby photos the next time I drop by.”

“I know,” Pieter shrugs nonchalantly, an unexpected response. “That’s why I burned all of the embarrassing ones.”

Holle looks up from her phone to study him for a handful of seconds. “Liar,” She scoffs, hauling herself up. She rolls her eyes when Pieter holds out his hand, but gives in when he fakes a pout and helps him up as well. “I want to make it known,” Holle states in a firm tone as they pick up their bags. “That I reserve the right to get completely drunk if your mother brings up the matter of grandchildren once more.”

“Fair enough-”

“ _And,”_ She shoots Pieter a pointed look. _“_ You cannot use anything I say while intoxicated against me.”

Pieter considers her terms for a brief moment. “Fair enough,” He says again, and that seems to be the end of that. No words are exchanged as they turn off the lights and leave behind the practice area.

“Holle?” Pieter calls as he catches a glimpse of the front doors and the world beyond their threshold.

“Yes?”

“You do realize we have been snowed in, yes?” He informs her, grimly observing the falling snow outside.

“There was a possibility that we would be trapped,” Holle shrugs. “I did not think to mention it, however.” It will hardly be the first time they spend the night in DSM’s headquarters. The second floor houses a few fully furnished dorm rooms, which their members sometimes make use of when practice runs late or they have no means of getting home. The showers are equipped with hot water, and the kitchenette is decently stocked. Holle mentions these details to Pieter. “We will probably have to make do with DSM sweatshirts for sleepwear, though.” At least they keep a supply of those upstairs.

Pieter shrugs, a hint of mischief tugging at his lips. “It is a good look on you,” He tells Holle with a grin.

“You said the same thing after covering me in grey paint when we painted our living room,” Holle reminds him as she leads the way upstairs. “So you will understand if I choose not to put much faith in you.”

“Suit yourself,” Pieter shrugs, and promptly starts singing under his breath. “ _I really can’t stay; baby, it’s cold outside. I’ve got to go ‘way; baby, it’s cold outside. This evening-”_

“You sound ridiculous, singing both parts on your own,” Holle informs him as they head for the last door down the hallway. None of the rooms are assigned to a specific member but they’ve always used this one whenever they need to stay the night. “It’s supposed to be a duet.”

“So sing with me,” Pieter suggests as they enter the room. He keeps Holle in place by settling his hands on her waist. _“This evening has been-_ ” A slight pause, and then he sings on, hoping to wear Holle down. “ _So very nice,”_

Holle rolls her eyes at Pieter’s expectant look. “ _I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice,”_ She finally gives in, and Pieter leans in to rest his forehead against hers while they sing.

Perhaps they could work this song into their next Christmas performance. Holle finds she quite enjoys singing the lines that traditionally belong to the man while Pieter worries that _there’s bound to be talk tomorrow._

“ _Baby, it’s cold outside,”_ Holle is smiling by the last line, and Pieter takes that as a sign that she actually enjoyed this little duet of theirs.

He tries to make her reprise it on Christmas Eve in front of his family, and Holle ends up giving in at the end of the night when Pieter recruits his nieces and the three of them give her what Pieter calls ‘puppy eyes’. Despite that embarrassing little incident, Holle decides their Valentine’s Day trade is well worth the time off to spend Christmas with Pieter’s family.

And even Valentine’s Day ends up being somewhat enjoyable once she manages to talk their sponsors out of their ridiculous requests. Love songs and DSM just don’t go well together, and slow dancing like awkward teenagers with a chaperone present… well, that’s something she and Pieter will keep for cold winter nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second Christmas-themed fic in July within a week; someone either send help or come sing carols with me. Also, I know: I went so far with the fluff that OOC doesn’t even begin to cover it.
> 
> This one’s a bit shorter, so I might be getting the hang of these short one-shots after all. I was hoping to have this up earlier but I’m all written out for the week and it took a while to sit myself down and write. This is the second out of five chapters but if you’ve got an idea, I’d love to write more for these two. So leave a prompt in the comments!


	3. Three

**THREE**

**_If Holle had just agreed the first time Pieter asked her to dance, they wouldn’t be sort-of-but-not-really talking about marriage and babies at a riff-off._ **

* * *

“Did you like the brownstone house?”

Holle averts her attention to Pieter, phone in one hand and eyes focused expectantly on her. Beyond Pieter’s left shoulder, she can see two of their beatboxers approaching a group of young men clad in maroon jackets. One of the local acapella groups, probably. “What?”

“The brownstone house with the remodeled attic,” Pieter elaborates, moving closer to be heard over the music. “Mikael just sent me a message asking if we want it. He has a potential buyer waiting if we decide not to take it.”

“Oh,” The question makes a lot more sense once Pieter mentions their realtor. “The brownstone,” Holle muses out loud to buy herself some time, hoping Pieter doesn’t see through her act. Had she liked that one? The two weeks before their departure from Germany had been a whirlwind of packing, tour preparations and house hunting, and Holle barely remembers a single detail about the dozen places Mikael had shown them. Then again, she hadn’t really paid attention to any of the houses. One could say her heart simply wasn’t in it.

“No,” Holle says decisively. “The commute to headquarters would take too long; we’re only fifteen minutes away now and we already wake up early enough as it is.”

Pieter’s eyes are too appraising, his silence a moment too long. But even if he has anything to say, he knows better than to bring it up right now. Instead he merely nods and sends out a short message to Mikael, apologizing for the wasted time and asking him to go ahead with the other party. It is the fourth such message he has sent to the man since they arrived in America.

Holle goes back to people-watching, her eyes scanning every last person in attendance. They have yet to puzzle out the mystery of their host and the purpose of this gathering, and she’s starting to wonder if it had been a mistake to lead her singers here on their precious night off before they resume touring tomorrow. Meanwhile, Pieter pulls up the list of houses they’re considering and notes that Holle has crossed out at least half of them. And to say that she has provided him with flimsy excuses would be generous, because _too far from headquarters_ now joins the ranks of _too many walls to repaint, too close to my parents_ and his personal favorite: _the basement looks like something out of a horror movie_. Pieter is beginning to wonder if Holle even wants to move. They don’t have to; their landlord is a reasonable lady who would be more than willing to renew their lease.

“You know,” Pieter speaks up carefully as he puts away his phone. Holle had been the one to suggest that they get their own place and if that is really what she wants, he doesn’t want to discourage her. But he’s known her long enough to know that something isn’t quite right here. “We don’t actually have to move if you don’t want to. Wanda said she wouldn’t mind if we-”

“Oh, look,” Holle says mildly, as if she isn’t purposely redirecting the conversation. “The Bellas have arrived. We should say hello, yes?”

Because Pieter is a smart man who knows better than to push Holle (and also because watching the littlest Bella fawn over Holle like a mouse admiring a cat while the cat sizes it up and considers the best way to serve it for dinner is downright hilarious), he merely nods and grins in anticipation.

“Let the hunt begin,” He announces ominously as they approach the Bellas, and Holle rolls her eyes and tosses a fond _dummkopf_ his way before they slip into their public personas. 

* * *

It is nothing short of fascinating to watch how quickly the party goes back to normal after their little riff-off, which Holle quickly gathers was meant to be the highlight of this evening. Barely ten minutes have elapsed since Pieter led their team’s celebratory rendition of Jump but already the high of their victory is fading, and it takes with it most of the crowd’s energy. A playlist of current hits still fills the air while half of those in attendance dance along but for the most part, guests have taken to wandering around with drinks in hand while they mingle and strike up conversations.

As Pieter makes his way back to her from the bar, Holle casts her eyes around the room and finds not a single one of their teammates within her sight, which leads her to conclude that they must still be amongst the crowd of dancers moving freely in the middle of the room. At least they’re having fun, which is all she wants for them tonight. This American tour is by no means on the same scale as some of their others, with most venues offering up a measly audience of a hundred people at most. But it is more fast-paced than any they have taken on, with most weeks seeing an average of two performances and sometimes in different states. Holle is beginning to see why the Bellas often cycled through the same handful of numbers over and over again during their previous tours. Not that she would ever consider such a thing, of course; DSM has a reputation to uphold, a standard they must be held to at all times. It is a source of endless pride most days but the pressure to live up to the bar they have set for themselves can sometimes be brutal and exhausting. At least this has been an easier week, with only that one performance at the car show scheduled for them. And for her overworked singers, tonight’s party could not have come at a better time. Tomorrow she will put them back to work, maybe fit in a few hours of practicing a new number before they are scheduled to leave. But for the rest of this evening, she will let her teammates unwind without the weight of their Kommissar’s watchful gaze upon them.

“Thank you,” She accepts her drink with an appreciative nod as Pieter returns to her side. “I am rather surprised you aren’t out there with them,” Holle confesses, referring to the dancers. Between the riff-off and their victory number, she has had her fill of impromptu dancing for the night.

“Perhaps later,” Pieter shrugs. “You are typically more inclined to join me after a few drinks.”

Holle frowns. “And here I thought you were simply being a gentleman, offering to fetch me a drink. Ulterior motives from even my most trusted of comrades,” She laments, throwing in a disappointed sigh for good measure. It is a deviation from her usual behavior in public but their victory, insignificant though it may be, has left her in high spirits.

“I have been trying to get you to dance since the day we met, Holle,” Pieter reminds her, laughing at her dramatics. “At this point, you should simply work under the assumption that everything I do is an attempt to talk you into a dance.”

“I salute your dedication to the cause,” Holle raises her drink in his direction before she takes a sip out of it. “But honestly, Pieter, must you bring _that_ up at every chance?”

“Our past is very precious to me, Liebling,” He grins. “It does my pride well to remember a time when you were not good at everything; a time when you were, in fact, horrible at something.”

“I ask the Gods every day how I was fortunate enough to find such a supportive partner,” Holle mutters into her drink while Pieter laughs.

The story goes as such: Holle had been classically trained in performing arts at a very young age, as most highborn children are. Unlike most of her peers however, she had not groaned and suffered through her lessons until such a time that it became acceptable for her to stop. While other children celebrated their newfound freedom after giving up piano lessons and dance classes, Holle begged her mother to let her continue. As her classmates focused on outscoring each other and getting accepted into the most prestigious of higher-learning institutes, Holle turned her attention to competitions, auditions and the likes. When the time came for her to select a university, her father had been outraged at the fact that Holle had chosen to forgo his alma mater and attend a conservatory instead. He even went so far as to threaten to disown her but after some advice from her mother ( _she will fail, and then she will return willingly to us and the right path in life_ ; truly, her mother had been an endless source of support and optimism _),_ he had given Holle his blessing - and more importantly, his financial backing - and so she had found herself bound for one of Germany’s top music conservatories.

Nothing could have prepared Holle for what awaited her at UdK. There was no shortage of students like her, those who came with years of formal training and a number of trophies from competitions all over Europe. But they were merely dedicated to music, while others _loved_ music. The ones who stood out most clearly were the scholarship students, the self-taught prodigies and savants who had soldiered through so many obstacles to make it this far. Those students had thrown a party the night before classes were scheduled to start and somehow, Holle had found herself completely frozen in a crowd of intoxicated youngsters, all of them dancing to a beat she had never heard before. It wasn’t the music that bothered her, but the way these people moved instinctively - as if dancing was second nature to them, as if the music ran in their veins and lifted their hands, arranged their legs, guided their hips. Holle, with all her years of ballet and waltz and a number of other dances, found herself completely incapable of replicating that ease, that connection the others felt with the beat. And suddenly she wondered if she belonged there after all.

Pieter stumbled upon her then: an immaculately groomed and entirely out of place young woman two seconds away from having an existential crisis on the dance floor. After a brief introduction, most of which was just Pieter asking her for her name and inquiring after her health while a panicked Holle questioned her life choices out loud, he quickly got to the bottom of the matter and proceeded to guide her through a few songs until Holle felt somewhat assured that even though she didn’t yet belong, she could learn to adapt to this world.

The story of his normally-composed fiancée nearly having an existential crisis while attending a dance party remains one of Pieter’s favorites to this very day, while Holle prefers to leave out the earliest bits of their shared history to spin the tale of their reunion instead. It is, in her opinion, a much better story: years of pining, countries and seas between them, Pieter’s hopeless attempts at rekindling their relationship, the way they had simply fallen back together one evening. But today, Holle finds herself bringing up the rest of their first chapter together.

“Do you remember,” She asks Pieter, a small smile playing on her lips. “The week we drove down to Spain?”

“I remember the night we spent in France on the way there,” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “And the fortune we spent on gas.” Pieter sobers up instantly at that memory, and even Holle suppresses a wince at the thought. Looking back on it now, the number doesn’t seem nearly as outrageous as it had been to their younger selves. But back then, with Pieter on scholarship and Holle trying to make the most of her spending money to avoid unnecessary contact with her parents, each stop at a gas station had felt like the prelude to financial ruin.

“I still think it was money well spent,” Pieter states firmly. “I finally got you to dance without having it choreographed beforehand.” That _had_ been the whole point of their road trip: two months after their initial meeting, Pieter had noticed that Holle simply could not lose herself in a sea of fellow dancers, not with all of their friends watching. So he’d bundled her up into his car and they charted a course for Spain, where Pieter was convinced Holle would succumb to the siren call of carnival music. His plan had worked, because not a bone in Holle’s body protested when he pulled her into the throng of revelers, not even when Pieter took her by the hand and asked her to dance in the streets. 

He fell in love with the way she clapped her hands along to the beat, the way she laughed when the street dancers twirled her around, the way her eyes lit up when she found him after they briefly lost sight of each other. And on the way back to Germany, he fell in love with Holle herself.

They broke up four days later.

“And look how far you’ve come, Kommissar,” Pieter says to a smiling Holle, choosing not to linger upon darker memories of their past. “Tonight was a far cry from the catatonic state I found you in that first night.”

“And we are back to this again,” Holle crosses her arms, careful not to spill the drink still in her hand. “It has been more than ten years, Pieter. You can stop bringing that up now.”

“Alright,” Pieter grins, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Enough of that – for tonight, at least.” Before Holle can give voice to further protest, he jumps from one unpleasant subject matter to another. “Can we talk about our apartment instead?”

Holle lets one hand fall back to her side while the other lifts her drink to her lips for a sip. “What about the apartment?” She asks, her features a portrait of indifference.

Pieter decides to just go for it; sometimes a direct approach is the best when it comes to Holle. “Do you want to buy it?”

At least Holle has the decency to drop her clueless act. “Pieter,” She says quietly, conveying indecision with a simple wide-eyed look.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Pieter asks gently, reaching out for her hand. Holle laces their fingers together and shakes her head with a tiny smile, one that usually means she’s embarrassed of herself. That bit of information merely adds to Pieter’s confusion. “Holle, you were the one who suggested we buy a house.”

Holle smiles again, this time with her eyes. “We’ve been together for ten years now, did you know that?” Of course he knows, and he also knows she’s aware that he’s been keeping track of their relationship. So Pieter remains silent and waits for Holle to go on. “I thought that maybe getting a house together would be the next logical step for us to take.” She shrugs, trying to downplay her next words. “I know that after a decade, other people do… other things but-” Pieter won’t let her go down that road.

“Liebling,” He sighs, lightly squeezing the fingers intertwined with his own. “We are not _other people_ ,” Pieter reminds her with a smile, trying to lighten things up. “We are mesh and leather wearing acapella gods, or have you forgotten?” At least that draws a laugh out of Holle. “Other people can do as they please, and we will do as we please, yes? Besides, some people can be together for twenty, thirty, even forty years without bending to society’s expectations and still be as happy as normal people.” Pieter has no idea why he’s dancing around the words _marriage_ and _wedding_ when Holle has already agreed to marry him someday, but right now does not seem like the right time to discuss such matters.

As usual, Holle seems to be on the same page. She withdraws her hand from his and pushes back a wisp of hair brave enough to escape her topknot. “So you wouldn’t mind,” She asks hesitantly, eyes guarded yet hopeful. “If we stay in the apartment? I mean, we’ve lived there since university, and I thought maybe you would want to move on, get a place of our own.”

“The apartment can be a place of our own,” Pieter points out with a smile. “We’ve been there for ten years now; I’m rather fond of the place and all of our memories. And if you’re happy there-”

“I am,” Holle nods quickly, having made up her mind. “It’s close to headquarters and most of our teammates live within walking distance. Our neighbors are nice, and we get just the right amount of sun in the summer.” She hesitates for a moment, but words that have weighed heavily upon her for months now push their way past her sealed lips. “It’s more than enough space for us and,” Holle inhales, exhales, smiles at Pieter. “And we have two spare rooms, if we ever decide to…”

It’s suddenly impossible for her to complete that sentence the minute she makes eye contact with Pieter, but he doesn’t need her to. He’s thought of it himself, what they could use those two empty rooms for. Holle’s four-room apartment had seemed ridiculous at first, completely and embarrassingly over the top and unnecessarily extravagant for a student. Her mother had insisted that she live _somewhere presentable, just in case our relatives ever drop by. You wouldn’t want to embarrass us, Holle._ But they’ve managed to fill the space up over the years, not so much with furnishings but with memories and laughter and late-night dances when Pieter spins her from one room into another just to laugh at how dizzy she gets. Pieter has thought of properly filling up the rooms though, with freshly-painted walls and delicate furniture, books and toys and the likes.

 _Children_ and _nursery_ join the list of words they don’t feel like mentioning right now. Instead Pieter lets the moment pass and eyes Holle’s empty drink. “Are you ready to dance now?”

Holle blinks, and her eyes are promptly cleared of daydreams and possible futures. “Well,” She sighs, resigning herself to the inevitability of Pieter making her join the knot of sweaty, drunk dancers in the middle of the room. “I suppose everyone is sufficiently inebriated and won’t be paying attention to us.”

“Come now,” Pieter grins as he relieves her of her empty glass and sets it down on the table next to them. He holds a hand out to Holle, waiting for her to lead him to the dance floor. It would not do for the others to see him pulling the Kommissar along.

She smirks and reaches for Pieter's hand, pushes down the part of her that still panics at the thought of dancing without planning out choreography beforehand. If Pieter were to ever find out she still feels this way sometimes, he would never let her live it down.

* * *

“Is that a thing?” Jesse asks, appearing out of nowhere to scare the living crap out of Beca.

 “Dude!” Beca hisses in reproach as she follows her boyfriend’s line of sight. “Wait, what?” She blurts out, confusion creasing her forehead as her eyes land upon two of their German rivals. Kommissar’s blonde hair shines like a beacon (or like, a visual siren call) and there’s no mistaking the defined jawline her dance partner sports.

There’s also no mistaking the fact that the two are dancing very, very… _intimately;_  Beca settles on a milder label even though a dozen crude terms come to mind. With Kommissar’s back to her sidekick and his hands quite possessively on her sides, they look like any other young couple getting it on in a nightclub.

“Huh,” Stacie remarks as she joins a stunned Beca and an amused Jesse. “I did _not_ see that one coming.” And that’s really saying something, because Stacie claims she knew about Aubrey and Unicycle all along.

“Dude,” Beca says once more for lack of a more eloquent reaction. “Wow,” She shakes her head and quickly averts her eyes before she gets mesmerized by the sight or something along those lines because god damn, those two could succeed Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie as the two most beautiful human beings to come together and potentially grace mankind with their genetically flawless offspring.

When she turns her back to the Germans (okay, she needs to stop calling them that), Beca is surprised to find herself face-to-face with most of the Bellas. “Too bad none of us are going to remember that tomorrow,” She shrugs.

“I remember every minute I spent in my mother’s womb,” Lilly says, adjusting her voice to a nearly-audible volume to make up for the loud music.

Emily happens to be the lucky one standing next to her, and stares at Beca in wide-eyed horror.

“It’s only weird if you don’t roll with it,” Beca tells her, throwing the girl an assuring smile. “Okay,” She turns back to Jesse after Emily hesitantly nods and walks away. “I’m going to need another drink before I can deal with… that.” She points in the general direction of the dance floor, resisting the temptation to take another look.

Stacie has no such reservations. “Someone’s getting lucky tonight,” She predicts with a grin. “And I’m not talking about Amy.”

“Not talking about this,” Beca mutters, grabbing Jesse’s hand. “ _So_ not talking about this,” She insists to herself, trying to ignore the fact that both Amy and Bumper have gone missing.

Jesse lets his girlfriend lead him to the bar, turning around every few steps to observe DSM’s leaders. “They can’t be that bad,” He muses out loud.

“What?” Beca demands incredulously, staring blankly at Jesse as they reach the bar. “Okay, so she’s in your head. I know how it is. But trust me, they _are_ that bad.”

“Come on, Becs,” Jesse smiles. “Can’t you see it? He’s one of those acapella boys, she’s one of those acapella girls…”

Beca crosses her arms and glares at him. “Don’t you say it,” She growls. “Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence, Swanson.”

“They’re just like us!”

“Damn you, Jesse!” She really doesn’t want to think of them that way. Beca wants them to be stereotypically German and villainous, and she wants them to be cold and detached and professional. She needs them to be those things, to build them up in her mind so that she can plot their downfall at the Worlds and not feel bad about it because otherwise she’ll feel awful about potentially upsetting German Goddess over there. That face was not made for frowning, or crying, or just any kind of upset expression, basically.

But she’s fighting a losing battle, Beca grudgingly admits to herself as she sneaks a look at the couple. They’ve left the dance floor and retreated to a quiet corner, and Kommissar even has her head on Assistant Kommissar’s shoulder as his arm-

“Okay, this is just ridiculous,” Beca announces, reaching around Jesse to stick her hand in his back pocket.

“Woah!” Jesse exclaims as she inadvertently gropes his ass. “Becs, not that I don’t appreciate the booty lovin’ but-”

Beca finally fishes out his phone, and Jesse nods in understanding once she shows him what she’d been after. “What happened to yours?” He asks as Beca taps on the Google icon.

“Battery died,” Beca explains as she types in _Das Sound Machine_. She’s bound to find their names somewhere, right?

Good old Google.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what happened, people. This chapter was supposed to be a chance for me to write the Bellas interacting with these two, maybe slip in a few references to this scene from the movie, try to steer my super OOC characters back onto the path of canonical characterization. But this explosion of sappy, cliché, cheesy backstory happened instead. There are no words for how ashamed of myself and sorry I am.
> 
> And now onwards we go, with more cheesy fluff to come! Because I am fandom trash, okay?


	4. Four

**FOUR**

**_Holle likes to be a hundred percent certain that she is performance-ready; Pieter just enjoys having an excuse to tickle her._ **

* * *

The kitchen counter, they discovered one evening when they were still students, is the perfect height for Holle to sit on while Pieter tickles her sides. They’d had significantly different activities in mind while making said discovery, of course, but that is neither here nor there. Now the counter is used primarily for practice purposes, and a rare Wednesday off finds Holle belting out an Adele song while Pieter’s hands simultaneously hold her in place and assault her waist.

“Well?” Holle asks as faint echoes of her last note finally fade into silence. She pulls a face at Pieter’s persistent prodding of her sides and squirms away, her senses more susceptible now that she isn’t focused on singing the unfamiliar lyrics. It’s been so long since she’d last seen fit to sing any Adele track but an old friend of hers had asked if Holle could please, _please_ – for old times’ sake – sing at her wedding this coming Sunday and with DSM enjoying a well-deserved break, she’d been hard pressed to find a good excuse to decline.

Pieter pulls her back into place. “Again,” He instructs, fingers curling around Holle’s sides.

“What?” She protests. “Why? I hit every note.”

“Of course you did,” Pieter tells her, a hint of pride in his voice. “But you were too focused on the lyrics. You sang without an accent.”

Holle replays the past few minutes in her mind and sighs when she realizes Pieter speaks the truth. She crosses her arms and huffs. “So I did.”

“From the top,” Pieter grins, ridiculously pleased to have another go at distracting Holle while she sings. If he hopes to draw a laugh out of her, however, he’s out of luck. Holle gets distracted by her own thoughts as she belts out the lyrics, completely unresponsive to Pieter’s tickling.

The accent. She’d love to retire the ridiculous _ze_ and _zhem_ and all the other words they pretend to struggle with but it might seem odd for DSM to suddenly sing and speak in perfect English after more than a decade of faking their heavy accents. It’s all a bit ridiculous and completely over the top but Pieter had suggested it when they’d first started singing English songs, insisting that it was in the same vein as Holle naming their group Das Sound Machine to endear themselves to foreigners. For reasons Holle remains unable to decipher up until this very day, people – oh, how does the English saying go? Ah, yes:

People absolutely ate that shit up.

They’ve been faking their accents ever since. The thought of doing the same at her friend’s wedding – Heidi _knows_ she speaks unaccented English – leaves a bad taste in Holle’s mouth but even outside of DSM-related performances, she knows she must keep up the act. So she dutifully messes up all of the words as Pieter tries to trip her up, even going so far as to try and tickle under her arms. Damn Pieter and his little ideas, even the ones that work to their advantage.

Batting away Pieter’s offending hands, Holle crosses her arms and waits for his verdict.

“That accent was so German,” Pieter announces. “I would bottle it up and serve it for Octoberfest if I could.”

Holle rolls her eyes. “A simple _yes, perfect_ would have sufficed.”

“No one in this apartment appreciates my comedic brilliance,” Pieter huffs, trying to poke Holle’s side one last time. She grabs his hand and tickles his palm in retaliation, grinning as Pieter’s shoulders shake with unwanted laughter. The trick with Pieter, she figured out early on in their relationship, is to tickle his palms and feet. Holle wraps her legs around Pieter to keep him hostage when he tries to pull away, unknowingly drawing him closer and allowing him to attack her neck with his lips. She isn’t ticklish there, far from it, but her neck is sensitive in only ways that Pieter knows to take advantage of. Her eyes close of their own accord, and she releases Pieter’s palm to slide her fingers into his hair instead.

“I win,” Pieter grins against her neck as his phone buzzes to signal an incoming message, and Holle sighs as he pulls away to reach for his phone. She shakes her head to compose herself and ground herself back in the present, stepping away from decade-old memories of lunch hours between classes spent in this kitchen with no intention of preparing a meal. When her eyes open once more, she finds Pieter laughing at his phone.

“It’s Fat Amy,” He informs her upon meeting her curious eyes. “She’s just gotten engaged and is inviting us to her wedding. _Yo, Deutschebag,_ ” Pieter reads out loud. _“Bumper put a ring on it. Free dinner and open bar if I can scam someone into sponsoring this shindig. Bring your scary boss lady._ Scary boss lady,” He repeats, testing out the English words. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

Holle shrugs. “I like it.” She decides. Perhaps Amy is growing on her; it _has_ been two years now since she and Pieter struck up a sort-of friendship that consists entirely of humorous and sarcastic, occasionally scathing but usually harmless conversations that sometimes include Holle. The Australian can be off-color at times but Holle finds she quite enjoys that. “I suppose we could attend; it should be fun, if nothing else. When is the wedding?” At any rate, this wedding will likely be at least ten times more entertaining than the dozen ceremonies she’s attended this past year. It’s beginning to feel like everyone she’s ever known is getting married.

“She didn’t say,” Pieter says after scanning through the message once more. He relays the question to Amy as Holle hops off the kitchen counter and gets herself a glass of water. When a reply arrives two minutes later, his sudden outburst of laughter in their silent kitchen nearly startles Holle.

“ _No wedding plans yet,_ ” He reads to Holle. _“I figure that if we draw it out long enough, one of our families is bound to get sick of waiting and offer to pay for the wedding. So prepare for some serious competition for the title of World’s Longest Engagement, you two.”_

As Pieter types out a message that reads simply ‘ _bring it on, Lazy Susan’_ , Holle sips at her water contemplatively. “She does realize we are already half a decade ahead of her, yes?” She asks Pieter after taking a moment to double-check that it has indeed been five years.

“Probably not,” Pieter shrugs, informing Amy of their head-start.

Amy writes back, saying she’ll send them a save-the-date message when she finally gets around to setting one, probably via hologram or teleportation or whatever futuristic messaging system the world will be using by the time she plans her wedding. “ _Say hi to Ginger for me,_ ” She concludes, and confusion creases Pieter’s forehead until a picture pops up.

It’s a particularly old one, from one of DSM’s very first performances. Pieter can tell not just because there was significantly more eye-liner used but also because of Holle’s strawberry blonde hair. “Look,” He shows Holle the old photo, feeling a peculiar sort of fondness for how disorganized and amateur-looking their younger selves were. They hadn’t taken to posing by height yet, so all of them stick out like jagged teeth, shorter members wedged in between taller ones, some laughing and others staring blankly at the camera, all of them with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders.

“Oh,” Holle smiles, taking the phone from Pieter. “I don’t think I’ve seen this before.”

“Amy sent it,” Pieter tells her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “She’s also taken to calling you Ginger, it would seem.”

Holle scrunches up her nose. “Isn’t that a cat’s name?” She studies the image of herself, having nearly forgotten that she’d once had red hair for a good few years. On a whim, seventeen-year-old Holle had dyed her hair to match her mother’s, and her mother had been so flattered by and approving of Holle’s deliberate attempts to look more like her. The little smile in her mother’s eyes whenever people remarked upon their similarities had convinced Holle to maintain the color throughout her time at the conservatory, even as their relationship began to fall apart.

The last nail in the coffin that houses the remains of her relationship with her mother was the hypocritical way she had behaved as DSM started gaining popularity. Suddenly her mother was everywhere, offering quotes to every paper and magazine that reported on the acapella group. Of course she had always supported Holle’s musical endeavors, she claimed, pointing to her own roots as a well-respected opera singer in Denmark before she’d given up performing and moved to Germany to get married. And oh, it was so evident even early on that Holle was gifted, and naturally her mother was sure to nurture her talent and push her to greatness, to support her when she was uncertain and to convince her strict father.

Her upbringing and the lesson she had been taught a thousand times as a child – _a good family does not air out their dirty laundry_ – kept Holle from publicly calling out her mother, just as the older woman had known it would. But shortly thereafter, Holle grew sick of seeing traces of her mother every time she looked in the mirror. It had been a strength she had drawn upon in the earliest months during DSM’s infancy, a way to channel her mother as she played the role of Kommissar, a woman who commanded enough authority to lead a group of nineteen other strong-willed musicians. After her mother’s little stunt with the media though, she no longer felt like modelling herself after the woman. To say her friends were surprised the day she walked into practice sporting her natural blonde hair would be an understatement but no one reacted more strongly than her mother, who waged a cold war against Holle for two months after.

“Come,” She tells Pieter, handing him back his phone and pushing aside thoughts of her mother. “We’re due to have dinner with Heidi and the rest of the wedding party in two hours.”

“I suppose I’ll have to be on my best behavior, won’t I?” Pieter sighs, pocketing his phone and following Holle out of the kitchen. He’s met Heidi quite a few times over the years, since she is one of Holle’s oldest and dearest friends. She’s nice enough, and having come from humble beginnings like Pieter, is perhaps the only person from Holle’s old life who doesn’t make Pieter feel distinctly out of place whenever they meet. The rest of the wedding party, however… sometimes they shoot him looks reminiscent of the patronizing smirks Holle’s parents like to direct his way when he uses the wrong fork at dinner. Who needs six forks for one meal, anyway?

Holle turns around abruptly, and Pieter nearly crashes into her. There’s something soft in her eyes as she brings a hand to Pieter’s cheek, framing the left half of his face. “You’re perfectly well-behaved to me,” She says, and the unspoken _I love you as you are,_ a sentiment she’s expressed numerous times throughout the years, is as loud as the words she does give voice to.

“That’s because compared to some of our teammates,” Pieter grins, choking down a tangled mess of emotions in his throat. “I’m practically an angel.” Holle laughs and concedes the point, and nothing more is said as they head for the bedroom. The kiss he presses to Holle’s forehead is, as always, a message clear as day to the both of them: _thank you_ and _I know_ and _I love you_ all conveyed in a simple action.

* * *

“You know,” Holle muses later that night as she steps out of the bathroom, tossing her towel into the laundry hamper. “We’ve still got two weeks before practice starts up.”

“Did you have something in mind?” Pieter asks. “We could take a short trip if you’d like.” They’d gotten home late from dinner, and he’s already in bed by the time Holle gets dressed. He reaches over to turn on the lamp on Holle’s nightstand as she flicks off the overhead lights, helpfully illuminating a path to the bed.

Holle busies herself with getting under the covers, checking on her phone, generally just avoiding Pieter as she throws out a suggestion. “We could get married.” She pushes on, ignoring the nauseating ball of nerves in her stomach and the fact that Pieter seems to have been stunned into silence. “Just something small; we could drive down to the Rathaus on a weekday, just the two of us. And then we could have dinner with your family afterwards.” She finally risks a look at Pieter and for the first time in years, Holle can’t read what’s in his eyes.

“You know we’ll have to invite the team,” Pieter tells her after a moment of silence that seems to stretch on forever, and Holle is so relieved she can’t help the laugh that escapes her. “No, really,” Pieter insists with a smile. “They’ve been waiting for years now; we’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t invite them.”

“They’d go on strike,” Holle agrees, trying to keep her voice even. Her eyes give her away though, bright with laughter and happiness. “Who else do we need to invite, lest we unknowingly hurt someone’s feelings by excluding them from the wedding of the century?”

Pieter regards her with a skeptical look. “Doesn’t anyone else come to mind?”

“No,” Holle shrugs. “Not really.”

“Holle, your parents,” He reminds her. “They dislike me enough as it is. If we don’t invite them, I think they’ll never speak to me again.”

“Oh,” She sighs, all traces of a smile leaving her face. Holle loves her parents, she supposes, in the way all children love parents who have been decent enough to raise and feed and shelter them. But the thought of inviting her family to dinner with Pieter’s family and their teammates isn’t a pleasant one; she can already picture the discomfort on everyone’s faces as her father casually mentions all of his rich and famous acquaintances and her mother openly criticizes everyone’s table manners.

“Wait,” Holle tells a concerned Pieter as she reaches for her phone, having recalled an important detail from her phone call to her mother a few days ago. She pulls up her calendar and sighs in relief. “My parents leave for a cruise in six days. If we get married a week from now, and I invite them two days before and tell them it’s all very last-minute, we’ll have done our part. It’s highly unlikely they’ll choose to cancel their vacation just to have dinner with us.”

Pieter frowns. “And you’re alright with that?” Family dinner or no family dinner, he would have jumped at the chance to marry Holle anyway. But not being able to celebrate with his family would have bothered him somewhat, and he can’t fathom the idea of Holle not being affected by the thought that her parents would rather go on a cruise than celebrate with her.

“They’ll probably insist that we have dinner with them when they get back,” Holle predicts, setting her phone back down on the nightstand. “So it doesn’t make much of a difference to me. I prefer it this way,” She assures Pieter, leaning in to kiss him when she spots lingering concern in his eyes.

“So,” Pieter smiles against her lips. “A week from today?”

“A week,” Holle nods, simultaneously terrified and excited by the idea of being married in a week. But for the first time, she’s more excited than anything else. It’s taken her a while to get to this point, but now Holle knows for sure that a piece of paper won’t change how they treat each other, not after all these years together. The fact that it’s taken her this long to understand that is nothing short of absurd.

She kisses Pieter one last time, a chaste peck more than anything else, and turns to switch off the lamp. Pieter slings one arm over her waist as she rests on her side, as usual. “Will you be able to sleep now?” Before Holle can express her confusion, Pieter goes on. “You’ve been deep in thought all evening, and it didn’t seem like you would tell me what was troubling you. I was prepared for a night of tossing and turning.”

Holle smiles, reaching for Pieter’s hand on her waist to clasp it within her own. She doesn’t give Pieter nearly enough credit when it comes to how perceptive he can be. “I’m alright now. But if you’re so concerned,” She says teasingly as Pieter laces their fingers together. “Perhaps you should sing me to sleep.”

After nearly fourteen years of knowing each other, she should really know better than to joke about such matters. Holle instantly regrets her suggestion as Pieter starts singing one of _the_ worst songs in all of German history. _“Alles hat ein Ende nur die Wurst hat zwei-”_

“Pieter,” Holle warns, her voice clipped. Anyone with the slightest sense of self-preservation would have heeded the warning in her tone. Unfortunately, Pieter’s survival instincts aren’t the best.

“Come now, Liebling,” He grins, lips moving against Holle’s shoulder. “You love this song.”

“I hate this song,” She corrects him, digging her nails into the skin of his palm. “With a passion that burns hotter than anything I’ve ever felt for you.”

“Same difference,” Pieter shrugs after a moment’s consideration. _“Jawoll mein Schatz es ist vorbei; doch du mußt nicht traurig sein–”_

“Don’t make me call off the wedding.”

Well, that’s effective; Pieter stops mid-verse. “You know,” He says instead. “If you were to ever leave me, I would probably fling myself off a cliff. In a very dramatic manner,” He adds. “Preferably during a thunderstorm.”

That last sentence assures Holle he’s joking. Still, she reaches out and blindly slaps what she hopes is his arm but is quite likely his neck. “Who ever said anything about leaving you?” Holle rolls her eyes as Pieter overreacts to her half-hearted swat. “I could no sooner leave you than I could leave DSM, you oaf.”

“That is probably the most romantic thing you have ever said to me,” Pieter tells her very seriously.

“I’ll be sure to include it in my vows,” Holle assures him, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Good night, Pieter.” She closes her eyes, ending their conversation before he starts singing again.

Pieter sighs as Holle peacefully drifts off to sleep; now the stupid song is stuck in _his_ head. “Good night, Liebling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Pieter sings is 'Alles hat ein Ende nur die Wurst hat zwei' and if anyone is in need of some WTF, look up Stephan Remmler’s version of the song on YouTube. Some parents sing nursery rhymes to their children; my mother sang me this.
> 
> I apologize for all of the domestic cotton-candy fluff. If you experience cavity-like pains, please visit a dentist. Also, I plan on adding to this collection so I can tell you now that there will definitely be more than the five chapters I’d originally planned to write. If you guys want more, leave prompts! I’d love an excuse to write more for these two.


	5. Five

**FIVE**

**_What goes up must come down, but the unstoppable force of nature that is DSM naturally glides back to the top four years later. Luckily, Beca bet a ton of money on them winning 2019’s Worlds._ **

* * *

@becamitchell Is it true that the 2015 Bellas will be at Worlds? My friend and I are going and we would DIE if you’re there.

-          Alison A (dontmakemepitchslapyou)

 

@dontmakemepitchslapyou Some of us. Please don’t die. Come say hi or something. We don’t bite. Well, Fat Amy might.

-          Beca Mitchell (becamitchell)

 

@becamitchell OH MY GOD REALLY??? SEE YOU THERE! Also, who do you think will win?

-          Alison A (dontmakemepitchslapyou)

 

@dontmakemepitchslapyou Don’t tell anyone but my money’s on #DSM

-          Beca Mitchell (becamitchell)

 

@becamitchell Thank you, Maus. I cannot condone gambling but that is a sound investment. I expect a sizable percentage from your winnings.

-          Kommissar (dsmkommissar)

 

@dsmkommissar 5% and a drink. Take it or leave it.

-          Beca Mitchell (becamitchell)

* * *

**dontmakemepitchslapyou:**

 

 

> Holy crap I tweeted Beca Mitchell and SHE WROTE BACK and she asked me to say hi when we meet at Worlds and somehow Kommissar from DSM noticed our tweets (probably because Beca used the DSM hashtag when I asked who she thinks will win WHICH IS A THING THAT HAPPENED YOU GUYS) anyway WAIT THEY’RE FRIENDS???
> 
> #freakingouthere            #fangirlingsohard             #becaisreallyniceyouguys
> 
> #acapella             #worlds2019      #worldacapellachampionship     #DYING
> 
> 318 notes

* * *

Whenever a disembodied hand offers her a drink, chances are the hand belongs to Pieter. Holle hasn’t actually kept track of this, but she’s certain it’s Pieter nine out of ten times. And then sometimes, one out of a hundred times or so, it’s Beca Mitchell at the after-party of the World Acapella Championship.

“As promised,” Beca says in lieu of a greeting, handing Holle a glass of champagne. “I thought of getting you beer because, you know, Germans and beer, but you seem too classy for that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Holle smirks, accepting the glass with a nod of thanks. “Have the past four years done nothing for your composure, or is it just the sight of me that has you babbling once more, Maus?”

“Hey, watch the suggestive tone,” The younger woman warns jokingly, surprisingly unflustered by Holle’s presence. She holds up a hand and points out a ring. “I’m taken.”

Holle raises her left hand. “So am I,” She shrugs. “Congratulations to you and…?”

“Jesse,” The brunette rolls her eyes and takes a self-deprecating shot at herself. “It’s so sappy and cliché, I know: marrying your college sweetheart and all that. But no one else is going to put up with either of us. And I figure if we’ve made it this long without killing each other…” Beca grins, trailing off with a shrug that fails to convey her usual ease.

“Pieter and I met in university,” Holle offers, thinking perhaps it might help the other woman. She sees hints of herself in Beca; one of the many reasons she had put off marrying Pieter for so long was because she’d wondered if it was stupid and naïve of them, to think that a relationship they had formed while they were barely adults would last a lifetime. It would be a shame for Beca to go through what she did, and a waste if she lets her doubts get to her and talk her out of her relationship.

Beca’s wide eyes convey her surprise. “Really? Wow. That’s so sweet.” She scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. “Ew, no. Sorry. I know I hate it when people say that about Jesse and me.”

“I don’t mind,” Holle waves off the apology. “It _does_ sound like something out of a movie, doesn’t it? But I think that’s all the more reason for us to appreciate these relationships, to treasure them as something rare, something that should have been impossible.”

“I guess?” Beca replies hesitantly. “I mean, yeah, we’re a statistical anomaly or something. We beat the odds and all of that.” She sounds more certain now, more convinced by her own words. “Screw what _some people_ think about college relationships,” Beca mutters.

Holle smiles encouragingly, knowing all too well what Beca means when she refers to _some people_. “I do so enjoy proving people wrong; don’t you?”

Beca nods. “So every time I get worried about what people think, I should just go ahead with this wedding and prove them all wrong.” She shakes her head and shoots Holle a knowing smile. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“Sometimes when it comes to such matters,” Holle tells the younger woman, one last piece of advice. “You do not need a push. You merely need something to anchor you long enough for you to remember why you said yes.”

“Speaking from experience?” Beca hazards a guess. “Should I warn Pieter about possible cold feet? I’m sure he could anchor you long enough for you to- ugh,” She grimaces and starts muttering to herself, presumably unaware that Holle can actually hear her. “Why does that sound dirty? Out of the gutter, Mitchell.”

Holle laughs and sips at her champagne while a mortified Beca mumbles something about wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. Taking pity on the girl and her burning cheeks, Holle smoothly picks up their conversation where Beca dropped it to go off on her little tangent. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” She says, pushing aside her engagement ring to reveal a thin band that’s often overlooked. “Warning Pieter, I mean.”

“Wow,” Beca takes a good look at the wedding ring, brows raised in surprised. “I did _not_ see that coming. You’d think news would travel faster, with the acapella world being as small as it is.”

“Oh, it usually does,” Holle assures her, dropping her hand back to her side. “But Pieter and I would rather not have everyone in the know. Our competitors gossip enough as it is.”

Beca nods. “Right, yeah, I get that. I’m more of a low-key kind of person too but Jesse’s really into these grand displays and it’s my fault anyway because I started our relationship by serenading him and- nope, not a story I want to share,” She says firmly, working very hard to ignore Holle’s curious eyes. “Anyway, your secret’s safe with me. I figure this’ll make us even, since you haven’t told anyone else that I turn into a blabbering, sexually-confused preteen whenever we meet.”

“You have quite the reputation in the music industry,” Holle smirks. “It’s impressive, how unflappable and aloof everyone thinks you are. It would have been a shame for me to ruin that.”

“Um, thanks? I secretly channel you as Kommissar whenever I meet someone famous and need to _not_ freak out and drool all over my idols and potential collaborators,” Beca admits sheepishly. “That’s the trick.”

“What a coincidence,” Pieter grins, stepping into place by Holle’s side and inviting himself into the conversation. “That’s exactly what Holle does.” He moves to hand her a drink, as usual, but finds she’s already nursing a glass of champagne.

“The maus owed me a drink,” Holle explains, nodding in Beca’s direction. “From that conversation we had on Twitter, remember?”

Pieter shrugs. “More for me," He declares.

“I’m kind of surprised you even _have_ a Twitter account, to be honest,” Beca remarks. “You don’t really strike me as the social media kind. I mean, him,” She points at Pieter, who is making quick work of his first drink. “Yeah, I’ve seen him in random Vines, for God’s sake. But you seem like more of an email person.”

“What’s wrong with being in random Vines?” Pieter asks defensively, setting his empty glass down on a nearby table.

“Dude, there’s one of you dressed as Hawkeye in a grocery store.”

Holle quickly steps in to put an end to that particular line of conversation before Pieter can offer a more detailed explanation of the story behind that video. “Let’s _not_ have this conversation again,” She tells Pieter firmly, cutting him off just as he tries to explain himself to Beca. She’d rather not have Pieter share the fact that if you listen closely, you can hear Holle laughing off-camera. And trust the narcissistic man to have watched his own video so many times that he’s realized the mildly reflective tiles on the floor show a faint image of her dressed in a matching Black Widow costume.

As far as Halloween costumes go, Holle admits that the superhero idea had been one of Pieter’s less embarrassing ones. He’d come home one day with a red wig in hand, telling her it would be just like old times. They’d only been married for a week then and like any sappy newlywed, Holle had given in to a wave of nostalgia and Pieter’s infectious enthusiasm and dressed up as a superheroine for Halloween. It was only when they met up with the rest of DSM that Holle found Pieter had coordinated with the team and they were all dressed as comic book characters. An excessive amount of alcohol was consumed that night, and midnight found them in the only twenty-four hour grocery store Berlin had, racing each other up and down the aisles and buying a ridiculous amount of unhealthy food to bring back to their dance studio. Holle can only thank the fates that Pieter’s video is the only part of their night to have made it onto the Internet; at some point Johann, one of their youngest singers, had taken to wearing his Superman underwear on his head. All photographic evidence had been promptly destroyed the next morning.

Given that Pieter has no less than a dozen embarrassing stories from the night stored up and ready for a dramatic retelling, Holle quickly steers the conversation back to Beca’s actual point. “I don’t have a Twitter account by choice,” She tells the girl, ignoring Pieter as he sulks over the missed opportunity to recount their Halloween exploits. “Pieter created one for each member of our team, and threatened to broadcast personal details from my account if I didn’t take control of it.”

“No offense,” Beca holds up her hands, “because I totally respect your professional tweeting and being able to only write about tour dates and not brag about your totally rad grown-up breakfast – I’m just really proud of myself for making frittatas, okay? – but I feel like his way of running your Twitter would have been 170% more entertaining.”

“See?” Pieter crosses his arms and shakes his head at Holle, faking an exaggerated amount of disappointment. “170% more entertaining, she says. We should have just done it my way. My first tweet was going to be about the way she likes to sit on the kitchen counter and swing her legs like a child,” He tells an amused Beca, who looks like she’s thoroughly enjoying this conversation.

“That is _adorable_ ,” Beca grins, undaunted by the fact that Holle is now glaring daggers at both of them. “I hope you’re ready to sleep on the couch for telling me that, though,” She warns Pieter in a hushed tone.

“Holle and I are above such stereotypical married couple behavior,” Pieter waves dismissively, only to waver under Holle’s glare. “Right, Liebling?”

“Be glad our hotel room does not come with a sofa,” Holle tells him coldly, and Pieter triumphantly high-fives Beca as she laughs at their behavior.

“You guys are so different now,” Beca claims. “Or maybe I just sort of built you up in my minds as competitors and didn’t really want to see you being normal aca-nerds the first time around. Yeah, probably the second one.” She nods to herself and looks to Holle and Pieter for affirmation.

They turn to look at each other, and Holle eyes Pieter contemplatively while he shrugs. “No,” He tells Beca as Holle nods in agreement. “We’ve always been this way. You were just blinded by my sassiness and intimidated by our talent the first time we met.”

“So humble,” Holle mutters.

“It’s true though,” Beca tells her. “The bit about being intimidated by you guys, at least. The sassy thing, I’m not too sure about.” She smiles apologetically at Pieter. “But yeah, DSM does _not_ kid around. You guys literally moved like a machine out there tonight. It’s scary. I mean, it’s impressive and also sort of beautiful in its own way but mostly just scary.”

“There is poetry in brutal efficiency,” Holle quotes, a sentence she read somewhere once that’s stuck with her for a long time. Pieter chuckles under his breath, amused by Holle’s fondness for such lines.

“Yeah, that’s – wait,” Beca squints at her after casting a suspicious look at Pieter. “That’s really familiar. Is that- did you just quote Shitty Horoscopes at me?” She asks Holle with equal measures of disbelief and awe.

Holle nods. “You know of the illustrator, then.”

“Dude, _yeah_. I love her stuff, especially Shitty Horoscopes,” Beca smiles brightly. “I’m surprised you know her though. Does this mean the great Kommissar has a Tumblr? I would _pay_ to see what kind of stuff you reblog.”

Pieter laughs audibly then, his mind conjuring an image of Holle sitting down with her laptop and scrolling through the endless void of Tumblr to reblog obscure facts about classical musicians.

“Pay no attention to him,” Holle tells Beca, used to Pieter’s odd behavior. “And no, I don’t have a Tumblr account. Pieter does, and he thought I would like the horoscopes when he scrolled past them one day. He lets me know whenever there are new ones.”

“Oh,” Beca brightens up, her eyes wide with excitement. “Have you heard of Welcome to Night Vale? They do horoscopes sometimes and-”

“Um, hi,” An unfamiliar voice pipes up, drawing the trio’s attention.

“Hi,” Beca returns uncertainly. “Hey, I know you,” She realizes after a closer look at the girl, offering the newcomer a friendly smile.

“Really? I mean, yeah, we spoke on Twitter but I didn’t think you’d recognize me. I’m do-”

“No, not from Twitter,” Beca cuts in while Holle and Pieter cast each other questioning looks before they both decide they have no idea what’s going on and should just watch the conversation unfold. “Well, yes, from Twitter – I love your username – but also from Lincoln Center. You were there the first time we won the ICCAs.”

The girl’s face lights up, and she seems delightfully surprised. Holle herself is impressed; she really _does_ appreciates their fans, as much as that sounds like a generic line, but she’d be hard pressed to recognize anyone from their earliest shows all those years ago.

“Wow,” The girl beams. “You remember that? It was like, seven years ago.”

“Dude, are you kidding me?” Beca turns to Holle and Pieter. “She’s the first person who ever asked for my autograph. You made me feel like a rock-star,” She tells the girl with a grin.

“That’s,” The blonde stammers. “I mean, wow. Okay, I’m freaking out here. Wow. I’m Alison, by the way,” She sticks her hand out to Beca.

“At the risk of sounding full of myself – I’m Beca, but you already knew that. That’s Pieter,” She points at Pieter, who reaches out to shake the girl’s hand as well. “And Kommissar, of course.”

Holle appreciates the fact that Beca switched back to her title for introductions. It’s not as if her real name is a secret – anyone with access to the Internet would be able to find her full name within seconds – but over the years, she’s labelled parts of her as _Kommissar_ and other parts as _Holle_ , and there are sides of her that feel too private to be exposed when in public and dealing with dozens, sometimes even hundreds, of strangers.

“You guys are amazing,” Alison tells her as they shake hands. “And my friend – Beth, she’s over there,” She points out a girl standing by the bar, who immediately blushes and ducks her head when she realizes her friend has drawn attention to her. “She’s a huge fan of you. But she’s also pretty shy; I couldn’t get her to come over with me.”

“That’s very sweet,” Holle smiles as Alison roots around in her bag for something. She keeps her eyes on Beth until the girl looks up once more, and waves at her with a friendly smile. It takes a moment for her to compose herself, but then Beth smiles brightly and waves back. “Tell her we said hello, won’t you?”

“Um, actually, would you guys mind signing this for her?” Alison asks hesitantly, producing a Moleskine notebook and a Sharpie.

Beca is the first to reach for the notebook. “Yeah, sure,” She agrees, flipping through the various autographs. “Wow, this is an impressive collection. You’ve met Amy, huh?” The most recent signature takes up two full pages: one says _feel the fat power!_ and the other has _Fat Amy_ in a fancy cursive Beca _knows_ Amy spent hours practicing, framed by at least a dozen hearts.

“She’s, um,” Alison struggles to describe Amy. “She’s intense. But in a good way,” She hurries to add.

“Amy definitely takes some getting used to,” Beca nods, handing the notebook to Pieter once she’s done inking her own modest, single-page, heart-less autograph. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I was wondering as well,” Pieter comments as he flips over to an empty page. “The party has been going on for an hour; isn’t she usually people-surfing by now?”

“Crowd-surfing,” Holle automatically corrects, taking the book from Pieter when he starts frowning at his autograph. He’s always picking at his penmanship, and she’s told him more than once to either practice his signature or stop fussing over such a small thing. She tweaks it a bit, adding some sharper edges to the _P_ and _K_. “Happy?”

“It looks so much cooler that way,” Pieter nods, grinning at her like a placated child. Holle shakes her head at him and scrawls _Kommissar_ across the next page and after a moment’s consideration, adds an encouraging _next time, come and say hello._ The girl seems sweet, and Holle can relate to her shyness. Memories of being a painfully shy child feel like they belong to a different life, but even now Holle still finds it easier to step into the role of confident, outgoing Kommissar whenever she has to socialize.

“Thanks so much, you guys,” Alison gushes when Holle hands the notebook and Sharpie back to her. “Beth is going to love this. And I don’t know if she’s still there, but we saw Fat Amy over by the DJ’s booth ten minutes ago.”

“Fair warning,” Beca turns to Pieter and Holle. “She brought along a plastic tiara to crown you guys as champions and she’s determined to make one of you wear it.”

“Pieter,” Holle announces decisively just as Pieter holds one hand up and volunteers to take one for the team with a resigned sigh.

Beca nods, amused eyes flitting between the couple. “We’re definitely taking pictures,” She warns Pieter before turning back to Alison. “Say hi to Beth, alright?”

“I will,” Alison smiles. “It was so nice to meet you guys. Thanks again, and congratulations,” She says to Holle and Pieter. “DSM, ja!”

Holle and Beca laugh while Pieter echoes the sentiment and high-fives the girl, and they watch her blend into the crowd once more after trading good-byes.

“Okay,” Beca tells the others as they head off to find Amy. “Fat Amy _arrived_ at this party half-drunk and swore on drop bears that she was going to annihilate the open bar, so just… be prepared for anything, is what I’m saying.”

Pieter claps his hands together in anticipation, his smile positively gleeful as he takes the lead while Beca falls behind to walk next to Holle.

“Should I be scared?” The brunette asks, only half-joking.

Holle thinks of Halloween, and the chaos Pieter had single-handedly talked their teammates into. Who knows what he and Amy can achieve together?

“We should all be scared,” She tells Beca, who assumes she’s joking and laughs in response. A short distance ahead, Holle can already hear the commotion as Amy threatens to body-slam Pieter to the ground and force the tiara on his head.

“Oh,” Beca quickly sobers up. “You weren’t joking.”

“No,” Holle shakes her head and prepares herself for a long night ahead. “I wasn’t.”

* * *

Four hours, a riff-off and at least seventeen very embarrassing moments later (eleven of which can be directly attributed to body shots; why did Pieter agree to Amy’s suggestion and _why_ did Holle give in to Pieter?), the party comes to an abrupt end when people suddenly realize how tired they are and start leaving in droves.

“Ain’t no party,” Cynthia Rose says with a rueful grin as she bids them good-night. “Like an acapella party. I swear, Fat Amy, if you put up pictures of this…”

“Whatever form of physical violence you’re about to threaten her with,” Holle speaks up. “I second that, especially if I find any photos of us participating in that tequila game.”

“I don’t even know where my phone is, so we’re good,” Amy waves her friends’ half-hearted threats off. “Actually, has anyone seen my phone? Or my wallet? Or my fiancé?”

“Bumper’s upstairs, Amy,” Beca reminds her friend. “You guys have an early flight back to L.A. tomorrow, remember? He went up to pack your things. C’mon, I’ve got your room key.”

“Okay,” Amy sighs. “Just gimme a moment to-” The others watch in stunned fascination as she tries to hop over the bar and finally decides to just climb over the counter after a few attempts that see her flopping about like a beached whale. Amy picks out two bottles of whisky, sets them on the counter and tries to climb back over. “I mean, they’re already paid for,” She says defensively as the rest of them stare at her.

“I don’t care what you say,” Cynthia Rose holds up her hands and backs away. “I’m leaving before anyone thinks I helped you steal those. I’m out, aca-bitches.”

“Hold up,” Stacie kicks off her heels and chases after Cynthia Rose. “You’re my designated driver!”

“Good night, guys!” Beca calls after her friends. “Don’t bother saying good-bye, that’s fine. It’s not like we’re not going to see each other until Amy’s wedding or something.”

“Love you too, Becs!” Stacie hollers back, already out of sight.

Beca sighs heavily and proceeds to help Amy down from the bar while Holle and Pieter watch in silence. “They’re insane,” Pieter whispers.

“But fun,” Holle shrugs and rests her head on Pieter’s shoulder. “Let’s never do this again though, yes?”

“Oh, fine,” Pieter gives in with a huff as Beca leads Amy to them. “We’re getting too old for this anyway.” He switches back to English as Holle laughs quietly. “Hand over a bottle or I’ll report your thievery.”

“Um, let’s see,” Amy cradles both bottles protectively to her chest. “Weird German dude wearing guy-liner,” She points one bottle at Pieter, and then turns it back towards herself. “Australian superstar who’s performed for the president _and_ led America to global acapella domination, which technically makes me half-American-”

“Amy, that’s not how it-”

“Shh, Beca. I’m more American than you, flat butt,” Amy retorts. “Anyway, yeah – who do you think the cops will believe, Deutschebag?”

Pieter seems too baffled by Amy’s flawed logic to answer her, and the Australian takes his silence as an answer. “Yeah, I thought so.” She smirks, walking backwards out of the ballroom the event coordinators had rented for the party. “You want free alcohol, come to the wedding. And don’t bother getting anything off the wedding registry; that’s all just fancy shit Bumper wants in our kitchen. I’m good with a lifetime supply of Taco Bell or whatever.”

“I don’t think-” Holle turns to Beca with a curious look. “Is that something we can actually get her?”

“Maybe a year’s supply,” Beca suggests. “I’ve got to go after her,” She smiles apologetically. “This was fun and all. I can’t believe you guys actually did body shots.” A quick look finds Amy already out of sight, and Beca cuts the conversation short. “I’ll see you guys at the wedding?”

Holle nods. “We plan to be there, yes. Good night, maus,” She calls fondly as Beca hurries after Amy.

“Good night, freakily perfect… yeah, good night.” Beca waves with her back already turned to them, speed-walking out of the ballroom. Within seconds, Holle and Pieter are the only ones left.

“We _are_ getting too old for this,” Holle sighs as they leave behind the ballroom and head for the empty lobby. “I’m too tired to even walk.”

“I’d offer to carry you,” Pieter smiles tiredly, wrapping an arm around her waist while they wait for the elevator. “But I wouldn’t want to hurt my aging back.” They share a quiet laugh as they step into the elevator, and Pieter presses a kiss to her forehead while they wait to reach their floor.

Their room is on the twentieth floor, and the numbers seem to tick by ridiculously slowly. It’s understandable, given that the hotel is quite established – in order words, probably due for upgrades soon – but this moment of silence, the first they’ve had since they arrived in the States five days ago, reminds Holle of something she’s been meaning to tell Pieter.

As they travel past the seventeenth floor, Holle clears her throat and aims for something that she hopes sounds close to casual. “I ran out of birth control five days ago.”

Nothing is said until they reach the nineteenth floor. “Oh,” Pieter says, a polite acknowledgement. The elevator chimes softly and opens its doors, depositing them on the correct floor. “We’re only here for two more nights,” He reminds Holle as they linger by the elevators. “But if you want me to – there’s a convenience store by the corner, they probably sell-”

“No,” Holle blurts out, reaching out as if to hold Pieter in place. “No,” She repeats calmly, composing herself under Pieter’s confused gaze. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve been thinking and…”

“I thought you stopped doing that,” Pieter brushes his thumb along her lips, and it’s only then that Holle realizes she’s biting into her lower lip like a nervous child.

She immediately stops, feeling absurdly self-conscious. It isn’t as if Pieter hasn’t seen worse. “It’s an awful habit,” Holle mutters, chiding herself.

Pieter shakes his head. “I happen to find it endearing,” He smiles fondly. “It reminds me of how you used to be, before Kommissar and all of this.”

_How you used to be_ , Pieter says but in Holle’s mind that translates to _who you used to be_ , and with him bringing up her Kommissar persona… “Have I – Pieter, have I really changed that much?”

“What do you mean?” Pieter frowns.

“I worry, sometimes,” Holle confesses as Pieter reaches for her hand, a supportive gesture as he silently encourages her to go on. “That I’m not who I used to be, or who I used to want to be.” She wonders if that even makes sense, but Pieter doesn’t seem to have any trouble keeping up. “Because I actually like this – I like having a home together and I like being married, and a part of me wants to keep going down this road and do all the things normal people do. But I wonder sometimes _how_ I’ve come to like and want these things, and it makes me think that maybe I’ve changed too much. Have I?” Her eyes search his for answers as Pieter reaches out with his free hand, the one not trapped within her own, and cups the side of her face.

“You’ve grown up,” Pieter says. “We both have. You’re wiser now, stronger than you were before – _yes_ , Holle,” He insists when she looks upon him with doubt. “The fact that you’re telling me all of this makes you stronger than before, when you were too scared to consider anything other than the course you’d charted for yourself. You _are_ stronger now, and,” A grin tugs at his lips as Pieter tries to lighten things up. “Somewhat impossibly, more beautiful than the day I met you-”

“Charmer,” Holle accuses him with a reluctant smile, wondering if it’s really that easy; if she can just let Pieter talk her out of these doubts she’s carried for so long now.

Pieter ignores her brief interruption and goes on. “But aside from that, you’re more or less the exact same person I met all those years ago. With better dancing skills, of course – you’re welcome.” Holle grants him his desired reaction: shakes her head and laughs at him, watches the way Pieter’s eyes flood with relief once she gives in and lets him help her.

“Come along,” Holle says, pulling Pieter down the hallway to their room. It’s a two-minute walk, and Pieter grants her a moment of silence to think things through. He allows her to enter the room first, and secures the door while Holle turns on the lights and sets her heels aside. Pieter walks up to her and dutifully undoes the zipper on her back without prompting, setting his hands on her waist when Holle turns around to face him.

“I don’t mean to influence your decision,” He tells her sincerely. “Or talk you into something you’re not ready for. But after everything we’ve been through with DSM, Holle,” Pieter smiles then and lets go of her, steps back to give her some space. “If raising eighteen teenagers didn’t change you, what’s the worst another kid or two can do?”

She laughs quietly, a short exhale of amusement more than anything. Pieter’s smile doesn’t falter, and his eyes grow bright as Holle reaches out for him, clasping their hands together.

“What do you think?” Pieter asks lightly, giving her fingers a squeeze.

Holle looks at him for the longest moment, thinks of the boy she met and the man she married, and sees what Pieter means when he says she’s grown up but she hasn’t changed. Maybe she owes that to Pieter, because as long as he’s around she doesn’t want to be anyone other than the person he fell in love with. And as long as she’s still that person, as long as she’s still someone worthy of this endless support and love Pieter has shown her, Holle knows she’s the kind of person her younger self could only hope to someday be.

“I think,” Holle says after a silence that’s almost too long. “I think I’ll go off the pill, just for a bit. It’s highly unlikely for anything to happen this soon,” She warns Pieter before he can get his hopes up, inadvertently revealing the fact that she’s been considering this long enough to have looked into it and done some research. “And it’s not like we would be actively _trying_ ,” Best not to overthink it or force this, right? “But if something were to happen…”

“ _Que sera, sera?”_ Pieter supplies helpfully.

Well, it does fit the situation. “Exactly,” Holle smiles and leans in. “But don’t start singing,” She warns Pieter, murmuring the words against his lips.

“ _Whatever will be, will be,”_ Pieter sings defiantly, challenging her. _“The future’s not ours to-”_ There’s only one way to shut him up, of course.

Pieter doesn’t seem to mind.

* * *

**EXTRA, EXTRA!** Okay, that should do the trick. I just wanted to make sure everyone sees this. I wrote a thousand words or so before I decided to start from scratch, [so if anyone’s interested in an alternate version of the first half of this chapter (with bonus Beca and Amy!), you can find that here.](http://esalvatore3.tumblr.com/post/126108716424/my-heart-is-a-concert-hall-v-alternate-version)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the last, in a way. It’s the last full-length chapter to be posted in chronological order. I’ll be adding a few more after that, but they’ll be out of order, shorter and mostly just outtakes/prompt fills. To the anon who requested a wedding scene, I’ll give it a shot but no promises because wedding scenes are painful to write for me, mostly because it’s too easy for them to get too cheesy and also I can’t deal with writing a roomful of characters. But hey, keep throwing prompts at me and we’ll see how many I can write.


	6. Six

**SIX**

**_Occasionally, Holle gets so into a book that she doesn’t realize one chapter has ended and a new one is starting. If she had to describe life with Pieter in one sentence, she’d call it a book – one where the pages blur together and she can never tell when a new chapter starts, only that each is better than the last._ **

* * *

In the week following DSM’s first performance, Holle feels as if nothing in the world can put a damper on her ridiculously good mood. They’d done it, they’d actually pulled it off – twenty people singing and dancing and harmonizing in perfect sync to be declared, unanimously, the best of the batch – and she can’t wait for the next semester to roll around because performing with the group is… is… eight languages and still she cannot find a word for how _right_ this all seems and how alive it makes her feel. All she knows is she’s so happy Pieter has taken to teasing her about it, and even that can’t stop her from smiling and humming under her breath.

Trust her mother to be the one person in the world capable of doing the impossible.

“Holle, Liebchen, the most _wonderful_ thing has happened,” Her mother sings on the other line without so much as a _hello_ or _how are you_ after weeks of silence. “Katharina – oh, you _do_ remember Katharina? – has invited us over for Christmas.”

“Actually, Mor-” Holle steels herself for the ugly turn their conversation will surely take and quickly walks away from the crowded campus to find a quiet corner. Christmas is the day after tomorrow, and the campus is swarmed by students exchanging good-byes and wrapped gifts while they wait for their families to pick them up. Best not to have this conversation within hearing range of prying ears; her mother will _not_ be happy to hear that she has no intention of joining her family for Christmas, and she’ll find the reason behind it even more displeasing.

Selectively deaf, as always, Ilona forges ahead. “Did you know her son is in line for the Prussian throne? He is, I’ve just found out. I didn’t even know she’d married into the aristocracy. He’s seventh or eighth, of course, maybe even further behind. But you never know with these things. _And_ he’s about your age-”

“Mor,” Holle speaks up more forcefully. “There _is_ no Prussian throne left. They’re all pretenders or claimants.” Having known her mother all her life, she knows exactly where this conversation is going. Ilona has always been proud of herself for marrying ‘up’. She’d made the most of her upper-middle class upbringing, had trained and worked hard to become a famed opera singer and catch the eye of Holle’s father, a young man then settled in Denmark to oversee some business of his father’s. It’s all utterly ridiculous, her mother’s obsession with high society, and Holle has no interest in letting Ilona drag her into this game. Besides, princes and dukes are nothing compared to the ridiculous man who was supposed to meet her ten minutes ago.

“What does _that_ have to do with anything?” Ilona asks, genuinely perplexed. “They’ve still got their titles and castles, that’s what matters. Come now, Liebchen, we’ll have a wonderful time, I’m certain. It isn’t as if you have any other plans-”

Holle resists the urge to roll her eyes or cross her arms. “Actually,” She interrupts her mother. “I do.”

That gains her a moment of blissful silence, at least. “You-” The infuriating woman _laughs_. It’s shaky, an afterthought to mask her shock more than anything, but it still feels like an insult. “What?”

“I have plans,” Holle announces clearly. “For Christmas, I mean.”

“Do you now?” Her mother challenges in a skeptical tone and Holle can picture the familiar smirk on her face and that patronizing look in her eyes.

“ _Yes_ , Mor,” She huffs, stalking over to an empty bench. “Do you remember Pieter?” Speak of the devil, indeed. Pieter appears from one of the buildings across campus and scans his surroundings until his eyes land upon Holle. He waves at her with a cheerful grin and begins to make his way over.

Ilona falters at the mention of a boy’s name. “Who?”

“You _do_ remember Pieter?” Holle asks mockingly, an echo of her earlier words. “The friend I brought home for dinner three years ago?”

“Oh,” Her mother says coldly. “The friend I found in your bed, you mean.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Holle forces out through gritted teeth. “But yes,” She ignores her mother’s quiet, ladylike snort of disbelief. “That was Pieter.”

“What about him, then?” Ilona asks casually, her voice carefully disinterested. Holle wishes that just _for once_ they could have a real conversation, one without her mother playing these games. She wants Ilona to be the kind of mother who would want to know all about Pieter, the kind of mother who would have sympathized with Holle when she had to leave him and who would be happy to hear that they’ve gotten back together. She also wishes her mother could be the kind of mother who would have tucked her in at night and taken her out for ice-cream as a child but as the English saying goes, it’s far more likely that Hell will freeze over and pigs will fly before her mother actually becomes a real _mom_.

“He’s asked me to spend the holidays with his family,” Holle informs her mother brusquely. Ilona had harbored her suspicions three years ago but Holle had insisted – honestly, at the time - that they were merely friends. Her relationship with Pieter is news to her mother, and Holle doesn’t have it in her to put up with the woman’s no doubt unfavorable reaction. “And I agreed. So I’m afraid I won’t be spending Christmas with you or Katharina and her pretender son.” Pieter arrives in time to hear that last sentence, and shoots her a confused look.

“Young lady, how dare-”

“Merry Christmas, Mor. Send Vater my love, won’t you? Good bye.” Holle promptly hangs up and gets to her feet, putting her phone away while Pieter regards her contemplatively.

“Pretender son?” He finally asks, choosing not to pursue the matter of Holle’s mother. It’s the first time he’s seen her upset all week, and he won’t be responsible for keeping that look in her eyes. “Should I be concerned?”

Holle rolls her eyes and slips her hand into his. “Dummkopf,” She shakes her head fondly as they head for her apartment, a pleasant fifteen-minute walk away. “Who needs fake royalty when I’ve got you?”

“Be still, my heart,” Pieter mutters, allowing Holle a laugh at his expense. “Look,” He points out a house on the edge of campus. “I saw that one yesterday. It’s a bit too much for me alone, but Magnus says he’ll room with me for the semester if I can’t find anything else.”

“Isn’t he the one who wanted to move out in the first place?” Holle asks, trying to recall the chain of events that had led to Pieter suddenly losing all four of his housemates. With most students having sorted out their housing situation at the beginning of the first semester, replacing his four friends is proving harder than even Holle had anticipated and Pieter has decided to give up the house and find a smaller place.

Pieter nods. “His sister is supposed to transfer here next year, and they plan on sharing a place. But he feels bad for putting me in this situation, so he offered to help out until she gets here or I find a solution.”

“It’s the least he can do,” Holle points out. “But I suppose that was nice of him to offer, anyway,” She concedes grudgingly. Pieter chuckles, amused by the fact that Holle seems more disappointed in his unreliable housemates than he is. He points out a few more places he’s seen as they keep walking, but Holle finds she isn’t quite paying attention.

Her apartment is ridiculously spacious, and all she can think of is how lonely all that empty space can sometimes make her feel.

She realizes then that Pieter is the one leading the way, pulling her up two flights of stairs and reaching into her bag for her keys, easily locating them and unlocking her front door to let them in. He’s the one who locks the door behind them while Holle walks further into her living room, noticing for the first time that the books strewn on her coffee table aren’t entirely hers, the CDs lining her shelves form an eclectic mix one can’t fully attribute to her taste in music…

“Is everything okay?” Pieter asks as he walks up to her, carefully unwinding the scarf around her neck. “You’ve been quiet for a while now.”

Holle feels a familiar swell of _something_ warm her heart as Pieter sets aside her scarf and starts working on the buttons lining her coat. “You spend most of your time here.” She realizes out loud.

“You’ve got better food,” Pieter shrugs. “Besides, it's never this peaceful and quiet at my-” He abruptly tenses, ignoring Holle’s coat to focus on her instead. “Is that a bad thing? I don’t mean to- I mean, I know you need your space sometimes and-”

“I think you should move in,” Holle blurts out, trying to put an end to that line of thought before Pieter starts thinking he’s unwelcome in her home. She eyes Pieter nervously, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she shrugs off her coat and waits for him to respond.

She turns her back to him to set her coat down on the sofa, but Pieter takes her by the waist and spins her back around. “Really?” He asks, and it’s insane and stupid and things are going to be so much messier if this doesn’t work out between them, they’re so young-

“Yes, really,” Holle tells him, unable to stop the smile that curves her lips upwards. Pieter pulls her closer and his own smile against her lips feels ten times bigger. Her hands move to help him with his coat, and Holle breaks away from their kiss to move her lips closer to Pieter’s ear. “Maybe we should move this to _our_ bedroom,” She suggests as Pieter gets a firm hold on her middle and lifts her off the ground, prompting Holle to wrap her legs around him in a practiced move.

“I like the sound of that,” Pieter tells her between kisses, and the fact that he manages to get them into the bedroom even with his eyes closed and his focus solely on Holle assures her he definitely belongs here with her.

Pieter moves in after Christmas, and Holle quickly forgets what it was like to ever be alone. He drags her out of bed when hitting snooze would make her run late, leaves her breakfast when he has to get up first for early classes, gets up in the middle of the night to pull the covers up when she starts shivering. Holle has never needed to be taken care of, but Pieter does these things because he _wants_ to and that changes everything. She’s done just fine by herself all these years before but suddenly, Holle can’t imagine falling asleep without Pieter by her side.

Suddenly, she can’t imagine the rest of her life without him by her side.

* * *

“What’s this?” Pieter asks, startled by Holle’s sudden appearance and the paper she’s just dropped into his lap.

“It’s a national competition,” Holle tells him as she walks by, heading for their bedroom. Pieter gets up to follow her, paper in hand. “Herr Hoffman thought it might be of interest to us. The competition is this fall. He thinks we could win.”

“Win?” Pieter echoes questioningly. He gives the paper a second look as Holle discards her jeans and sweater in favor of leggings and a tank top. “You want to join a professional acapella competition?”

“If we win,” Holle replies, voice muffled as she pulls the sweater over her head. “We’d qualify to represent Germany at the international competition.” She lets her top fall to the ground and turns to observe Pieter.

It takes Pieter a while to articulate his thoughts. “You want us to do this for more than just school,” He says slowly, trying to process the thought. “You want us to do this for a living.”

Holle nods and crosses her arms. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s-” Pieter sighs and drags a hand down his face. “Gods, Holle, we can’t have this conversation with you like that. Put some clothes on; I’ll go make us a pot of coffee.” He turns around and leaves the room, paper still in his hand.

“But you’re so much more agreeable when I’m dressed like this!” Holle calls after his retreating form with a grin.

“That’s the problem!” Pieter hollers back from the kitchen. Holle laughs to herself and quickly pulls on her tank top, dropping her clothes into the laundry hamper before she swipes a ponytail holder from the bathroom counter. In the kitchen, she’s greeted by the promising sight of Pieter reading the print-out, looking deep in thought.

“We could do it, you know,” She tells him, twisting her hair up. “I’ve looked up previous contestants; we’re more or less on their level. With some practice, we could beat them. And past winners from the last eleven years haven’t even bothered to try their luck at Worlds.”

“That’s not the main issue,” Pieter sighs, getting up to attend to their coffee. Holle sets out two mugs for him and reaches past his shoulder to get the canister of sugar. “With you in charge, I have no doubt that we’ll be able to push DSM into being national champions. But we’re graduating, Holle. For most of us, that means getting out there, hunting down paying jobs and supporting ourselves,” He doesn’t mean for it to be a jab at Holle, whose parents have decreed they will support her until the age of twenty-three, at which point she will be forced to either return to her family and pursue a degree of their choice, or stick with her dreams and lose her parents’ financial backing. “You know I would gladly follow you,” Pieter adds quickly, moving on before Holle can take his words the wrong way. “I’d do anything if it means we can stay together beyond graduation. But the others, I’m not so sure about.”

“I could talk to them,” Holle says determinedly, accepting her cup of coffee with a nod of thanks. “We’re on track to win Herr Hoffman’s challenge, and everyone has said they would be willing to spend the summer performing. Nationals take place late August, early September. We could practice our routine while we tour. If we lose, we’ll have wasted a week, at most.”

“And if we win?” Pieter asks with a knowing smile, playing along with her for now. Holle has the exact same look she had in her eyes when she talked him into acapella in the first place, and that’s worked out well so far.

“If we win, then we could keep going.” She reaches for the print-out and hands it to him once more, pointing out the last few lines. “There’s a cash prize; it’s not much, but if we split it evenly and everyone takes up a part-time job, we could support ourselves until next spring. And there’s a victory tour for two months after the competition; traveling, accommodations – it’s all paid for. After that, it’s just a matter of pulling through until Worlds. And if we win that-”

Pieter shakes his head. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” He asks, a resigned sigh at odds with his smiling eyes.

“It could work,” Holle assures him earnestly, setting down her coffee to reach for his hand instead. “Let’s just try our luck with Nationals. If nothing comes of it, then we’ll move on,” She struggles with the words, struggles with the idea of graduating in less than a handful of months, of saying good-bye to DSM and their teammates and Pieter when life inevitably takes them down different roads.

“Hey,” Pieter leans in to drop a reassuring kiss on her temple. “We’ll see how it goes, alright? And even if we don’t win these competitions, DSM could still work out somehow. I’m sure there’s a market for a kickass acapella team somewhere out there. Maybe in America,” He muses. “They’ve successfully marketed weirder things than a German acapella group.”

Holle pretends to shudder at the thought. “But then we would have to move to _America_ ,” She points out.

“Oh, you’re right,” Pieter frowns. “We can’t have that. China, maybe? I’ve seen some odd things from them…” He shakes his head. “But we’ll probably dominate the worldwide championship thing, so none of this really matters.”

“And you’re not just saying that to reassure me?” Holle asks skeptically.

“Holle, our future as leather-and-mesh-wearing acapella rock-stars depends on this,” Pieter tells her very seriously. “Do you _know_ how desperately the rest of us want to spend the rest of our lives doing nothing but this? If it’s a matter of effort and determination,” He nods self-assuredly. “We’re winners already.”

Pieter pulls her into his lap, nearly sending the both of them tumbling to the ground as the dining chair strains under their combined weight. “Besides,” He tells her with a mischievous grin. “If this works out, you’ll be stuck with me for _years_. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this since we met.”

“There are easier ways to stay together,” Holle points out quietly. “Most of them don’t involve strenuous vocal training, rigorous dance exercises and the stress of competing in an international competition.”

“Most of them also don’t involve my girlfriend in leather skirts,” Pieter retorts. “So I’m going to go ahead and stick with this plan.”

And so, just like that, DSM goes from being a group project to potential acapella champions. It takes less than two days to talk everyone into Holle’s plan and by that fall, they’re an actual touring acapella group with fans and paid performances and potential sponsors.

Holle takes charge and leads her group forward, doesn’t ever stop to look back and wonder just how all of this happened. Why question one of the best things to ever happen to any of them, she asks whenever one of her singers freaks out at the sheer impossibility of it all. It’s good advice, and Holle tries to keep it in mind when she finds herself wide awake some nights, wondering just how she went from idly clicking on online videos to leading one of the most successful acapella groups around. On those nights though, Pieter pulls her closer and tells her to get some sleep, mumbles into her hair that _thinking hours are from nine to five_.

She usually drifts off to sleep after that, because otherwise she’ll be up all night trying to fill the empty pages of an alternate life without DSM.

* * *

“You know,” Pieter muses, eyes intent on Holle’s retreating form as she slips out of bed and heads for the bathroom. “I don’t know how I feel about possibly conceiving our child on American soil.”

The sound of running water reaches his ears after a moment, and Pieter decides he could probably use a shower as well after this evening’s performance and their recent activities. “I’m not saying we should give up sex, of course,” He goes on, joining Holle in the bathroom. “It’s just a thought.” The shower is spacious enough to hold the both of them without getting cramped, which is quite impressive. Then again, their manager had mentioned something about their new American sponsors sparing no expense for this tour, to celebrate DSM’s recent victory at Worlds. It’s become an increasingly coveted honor as acapella continues to grow in popularity, and everyone involved had been very pleased to watch the group reclaim their title.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Holle says, back turned to him as she stands under the spray of hot water.

Pieter stills, holding a bottle of shampoo mid-air as its contents leak into his palm. “Has something happened?” He asks after a pause, composing himself while an oblivious Holle keeps her back to him. “Are you back on the… did you change your mind?” Something in his voice finally gets Holle to turn around. A tinge of desperation, perhaps, because they’ve only been trying for a few months and he knows it hasn’t been easy on Holle, but she wouldn’t decide to just give up, would she? “Can we at least talk about this before-”

“Oh,” Holle realizes, belatedly, what that must’ve sounded like to him. “Pieter, that’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head and offers him a smile, tries to calm her nerves while confusion clouds Pieter’s eyes. “The day before we left, I went to see the doctor.”

It takes a moment for Pieter to catch on. “And?” He prompts, throat dry and mind racing.

“They called me this morning,” Holle tells him, eyes bright with a spark of mischief as she tries to make light of the situation. She doesn’t want to break down, doesn’t want to ruin this for Pieter and cry happy tears while she confesses that she’d been so scared this might never happen. “Unless we took a trip I’ve somehow entirely forgotten about six weeks ago, I’d say our child was definitely made in Germany.”

Pieter laughs and pulls her close, kisses her with so much joy that Holle wonders why she didn’t just tell him this morning. It isn’t until he pulls away and breathes “you're pregnant” with as much wonder in his eyes as an innocent child’s that she realizes it’s because up until this very moment, all of this has felt like a dream, an illusion she was too scared to shatter.

But now Pieter looks at her as if she’s given him the sun and the moon and everything in between, and he presses his hand, palm sticky with shampoo he’s forgotten about, to her stomach to say hello to _their child_ , and it’s finally, _finally_ real.

A thought occurs to Pieter and he shoots her a suspicious look. “Did you wait until we were in the shower to tell me so that I can’t pick you up and twirl you around?”

“I _was_ hoping to avoid any additional nausea,” Holle shrugs, because it’s easier to play along than to tell her husband she’s spent the entire day wondering if she imagined that phone call from her doctor.

“Are you feeling sick?” He frowns, hands immediately finding her waist to hold her in place while he studies her. “You look tired. Is the tour too much? We-”

“Pieter,” Holle shakes her head and brings her hands up to frame his face. “I am perfectly fine… for now. I’ll probably start getting sick and feeling miserable soon but until that happens, let’s not do this overly concerned husband thing.”

“But-” Pieter’s half-formed protest is silenced by a stern look, and he relents with a sigh. “Fine. But you’ll let me know the minute you don’t feel well.” He fixes a stern look of his own upon Holle.

“Deal,” She agrees easily, and then: “now will you please shut up and kiss me already? I’d like to celebrate before the hot water runs out.”

Pieter kisses her chastely, just once, and pulls back just enough to look her in the eyes. “I’m definitely not just saying this because we’re about to have shower sex to celebrate the fact that you’re carrying our child,” He assures her very seriously.

“Alright,” Holle replies warily. “What is it?”

“You’re kind of perfect.” Pieter declares, and he’s kissing her before she can decide to laugh at his sappiness or retort with something along the lines of _so I’ve been told_.

_Life_ , Holle thinks as she smiles into Pieter’s kiss, _is kind of perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in previous notes, this marks the end of the story I started telling in the first chapter. These six chapters were planned ahead of time, which allowed me to arrange them chronologically. Whatever comes after this will have been an idea or prompt I decided to write after the initial planning, so those will be out of order. I might go back someday and rearrange all of the chapters but only when I’m certain this is complete. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for reading, leaving reviews and comments, subscribing and adding me to your favorites – for everything, really. You’ve all been so nice and encouraging and supportive. But hey, the ride’s not over yet. And if you’d like to draw it out, don’t forget to leave prompts!


	7. Seven

**SEVEN**

**_For their fourth date, Pieter shows up at her door with a box of pizza and no other plans. The best things in life happen without being planned, anyway._ **

* * *

“Are you free this evening and what sort of pizza do you like?” Pieter asks as soon as she picks up the phone. It’s seven-thirty in the morning, the weather is freezing and she’s at least ten minutes away from having her first cup of coffee. Holle mumbles her way through a list of toppings, agrees to dinner in her apartment and promptly hangs up to burrow into her sheets and block the world out for five more minutes.

It isn’t until noon that she realizes she’s agreed to a fourth date with Pieter.

“What kind of person,” She asks Pieter later that evening, the both of them cramped into the makeshift breakfast nook in her kitchenette. “Calls a girl up at seven in the morning to ask about pizza?”

Pieter grins, folding a slice of pizza into half. “You’re the one who told me you’ve never had pizza before. What else was I supposed to do with that information?”

“I said no such thing,” Holle protests. “Of course I’ve had pizza before; I merely meant that I haven’t had this kind of pizza. It’s very oily,” She considers the nearly-finished slice in her hand. “But good.”

“Gourmet Italian pizza with spinach as a topping does not count, Holle,” Her companion shakes his head in dismay as Holle chews on the last bit of pizza crust. “This is American pizza! It is as the Universe meant for pizza to be served.” Pieter, she’s quickly learning, is the kind of person who talks with his mouth, his hands and sometimes even his whole body. He’ll use anything within range to illustrate his point and it’s quite endearing, but right now Holle worries that he might have forgotten he has a slice of pizza in his hand and is this close to painting her kitchen red with tomato sauce. So when she leans forward and snatches Pieter’s pizza from his hand, it’s really just a spur-of-the-moment decision to keep her kitchen walls clean. She’s just as taken aback by her own actions as Pieter seems to be, but Holle covers that up by taking a bite of the folded-up slice and slowly chewing as Pieter watches her.

“I have no idea how you can stomach multiple slices of this,” She tells Pieter, noting that his half of the pizza seems to have three times the amount of toppings as compared to hers. “One bite and I’m full.” There’s something to be said about stealing someone’s food, an odd sort of intimacy that accompanies the ease with which she had taken a bite out of his pizza. Pieter seems to acknowledge that, maintaining eye contact as she returns the stolen slice. Holle, on the other hand, chooses to brush it off.

“Has anyone ever pointed out that you have a bit of a fascination regarding American culture?”

Pieter forces down a mouthful of pizza before he speaks. “How so?”

“You seem to champion them,” Holle points out. “American pizza, American athletes… even those odd sayings, though I still believe you made up at least half of those and simply attribute them to Americans.”

“It’s a shame you won’t ever know for sure,” Pieter shrugs as he takes another bite of his pizza, chewing contemplatively as he considers Holle’s observation. “I suppose I just like the idea of America.” He finally decides. “A place where anyone can become someone, and overcoming life’s obstacles is _celebrated_. Their musicians, athletes, even their politicians – some of them came from absolutely nothing, and they’re idolized for rising above adversity to become these inspiring success stories. No one is going to say _well, yes, you’re a millionaire now, but you’re not the same as those who were born into it,_ or even _you’ll always be less, somehow, than people who didn’t rely on scholarships and welfare._ I think for all of their odd sayings and their remarkable talent when it comes to butchering foreign cuisine, that’s the one thing they have that- I’m sorry,” He comes to a sudden halt; shakes his head and offers Holle an apologetic smile. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

“No!” Holle insists, perhaps a bit too forcefully. “No, not at all. I’ve never thought of it like that, but you’re right. It’s just – unexpected, is all,” She adds weakly, trying to explain the distracted look she knows Pieter must have noticed in her eyes, causing him to stop mid-sentence for fear of boring her. “It always seemed like a running gag, you and your little American jokes. I wasn’t expecting something like this." A pause, and then: "Not that I thought you were simple-minded or shallow or-”

Pieter chuckles at the frantic edge to her words as Holle tries to avoid any unintentional insult. “Holle, it’s alright. Really. I know what people think of me. And to a certain extent, it’s true. I am mostly just an easygoing guy. But I don’t think any of us are just one thing. Take you, for example-”

“What about me?” Holle interrupts, eyes wide and voice wary.

“It’s nothing bad,” Pieter assures her with a laugh. “But the other night, when we went to the benefit concert – it seemed like something you’d enjoy, based on what you’ve told me about your life. And you seem the kind to be used to all of these fancy galas and things. But when we actually got there, you were just as uncomfortable as I was, nothing like your usual self. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you look out of place.”

Holle fidgets with her napkin, methodically shredding it into pieces. “It’s not what you think,” She tells Pieter before he can go on.

“So you _don’t_ usually spend your time at these things looking over your shoulder the entire evening?” Pieter jokingly retorts, feigning skepticism.

“Far from it,” Holle gives in to a little laugh of her own. The more she thinks of it, the more ridiculous the entire situation seems. “It’s just – I hadn’t realized it was a charity concert until _after_ we got there. And then I realized the non-profit involved was one that my mother sits on the board of.” She shrugs, tries to convey a message of _silly me_ via her eyes. “I was… worried she might show up.”

Pieter furrows his brows contemplatively. “Huh,” He finally says. “I did not see that coming.”

On a list of _why my date seems oddly nervous,_ Holle supposes her particular reason doesn’t quite make the first thirty or so entries - if it’s even on the list at all. She tells Pieter as much with a weak smile.

“Well, my point still stands,” Pieter steers them back to the original conversation. “You’re usually this outgoing, independent, grown-up woman, but there’s still a small part of you that dreads running into your mother. And then there’s the side of you that’s willing to just stay in on a Friday and have pizza with me. As for me: I’m usually the court jester, but sometimes you’ll find there are certain stories behind some of my quirks. A method to my madness, as they might say,” He grins.

Holle laughs, her face lighting up in delight. “I think you actually got that one right,” She gets to her feet and Pieter follows suit, the both of them making quick work of the empty box and the used napkins that litter Holle’s tiny breakfast table.

“Do I get some sort of prize for that?” Pieter jokingly asks as Holle rinses out the glasses they’d used.

She moves aside to let him wash his hands. “You’ve earned one, I suppose,” Holle smiles impishly as Pieter turns around in her tiny kitchen to face her, settling both hands on either side of her waist. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

“As a matter of fact,” Pieter murmurs as he closes the distance between them, the rest of that sentence forgotten as soon as Holle leans forward to initiate the kiss. He means to walk them over to the armchair across the room but with their eyes closed, it doesn’t come as a surprise when he ends up backing Holle up against a wall. For her part, Holle seems perfectly content with this arrangement, sighing happily as she wraps her arms around Pieter’s neck. Her eyes shine when she opens them, and the sight has Pieter smiling into the hollow of her neck.

Pieter is the first to draw away, unwinding his arms from around Holle's waist. “I should go,” He sighs reluctantly, mustering up a wry smile for Holle. “We wouldn’t want Frau Schultz to get the wrong idea.” They share a quiet laugh at the reminder of Holle’s elderly neighbor. She’d caught Pieter kissing Holle good-night last week when he walked her home after the concert, and the old widow had made sure to bump into Pieter on her way up the short flight of stairs leading up to the building’s main entrance, muttering audibly about the moral decay of society while she shot them pointed looks.

They’d ignored her then, and Holle thinks perhaps they should keep that up. “Pieter,” She calls just as he reaches the front door. “Would you…” She hesitates, but the way Pieter turns back around just a tad too quickly – too eagerly – encourages her. “Would you like to stay?”

“But what would Frau Schultz think?” Pieter answers her with a joke, but she appreciates it for what it is: a question, a way out in case she’s changed her mind in the five seconds it took for him to reply. But Holle’s waited long enough as it is, even stayed awake some nights knowing she could have had Pieter by her side but had sent him away because what would her neighbors think, what would their friends think, what would Pieter think of the girl he’d met just a month ago?

Holle motions for Pieter to come back with a wave of her hand. “To hell with what Frau Schultz might think,” She hooks a finger into Pieter’s belt loop and tugs him closer, eyes bright and lips smirking. “To hell with what anyone might think.”

Pieter smiles, something soft and genuine and relieved. “To hell with what anyone might think,” He echoes right before he kisses Holle the way he’s been wanting to for weeks now, the way one kisses a lover they have no intention of leaving before sunrise.

In the morning, they both hear the creak of old Frau Schultz’s door as she cracks her front door open to bear witness to Pieter’s walk of shame and tut disapprovingly at the young couple as they make their way down the hall.

_To hell with what anyone might think_ , Holle reminds herself. The memory of waking up with Pieter’s arm slung around her waist and his lips smiling against her shoulder, his words sleep-slurred as he wished her a good morning and told her he could get used to waking up this way, is worth the judgmental look in her neighbor’s eyes and the knowing looks and lighthearted teasing Pieter’s roommates aim their way for the rest of the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortest chapter so far, but I think this one took me the most time to write. Sorry about that, everyone. Real life knocked on my door a week ago and has invited itself over for the next three months or so, but I’m determined to ignore my houseguest and keep writing for these two so no worries, friends. I am shipper trash, and I am here to stay and rot your teeth with my cotton candy fluff.
> 
> I hope this gives you guys a good idea of what the bonus chapters will be like; they’re mostly just little snippets of 'plot? What plot?'. I don’t expect any of these to hold up to the standard my earlier chapters set but hey: fluff is fluff, no matter how poorly written. Still, I hope you guys enjoy this and don’t forget: I’m still taking prompts! It’s a good way to trick people into leaving reviews, and we all know I’ll do anything for reviews. I should probably get help for that…


	8. Eight

**EIGHT**

**_Meeting the parents is rarely a comfortable experience, but things get particularly awkward when Holle’s mother finds the young woman’s_ ex _-boyfriend in her bed_ _. Thank God Pieter lives to tell the story._**

* * *

Pulling up to the ornate driveway framing Holle’s house offers no relief, despite the fact that he’s been driving for nearly six hours to get here. It’s a beautiful place, to be sure, but not exactly welcoming.

“No cars?” Pieter asks his passenger, trying to coax a word or two out of her. Holle had grown unnaturally still and quiet as they approached her neighborhood, and he wonders how it feels to be _that_ stressed out to return to your childhood house, how it feels not to have a single place in this whole wide world to call home.

Holle shakes her head. “There’s a garage,” She informs him involuntarily, pointing out the ramp that leads to the underground garage her father had commissioned after inheriting the mansion. There’s a book in her head, one Holle has been writing since she was eleven: it’s about her parents, and the working title is _An Excess of Wealth: Do We Really Need This, Vater?_

“Fancy,” Pieter quips, and Holle wonders again why she didn’t try harder to talk him out of driving her back to Munich. She’s experienced her fair share of people changing their minds about her and writing her off as a rich brat as soon as they find out who her parents are; Holle knows Pieter isn’t that kind of person but that doesn’t make his wide-eyed stares and impressed whistles any less uncomfortable. Ever since she was old enough to understand that not all people live equally, Holle has always been uncomfortably aware of her privileged lot in life. But now it eats at her more than ever before, sitting next to Pieter who’s told her of his parents working three jobs each, the small apartment he spent his first decade of life crammed into and his sister’s ongoing struggle to get a scholarship to ease their parents’ burden. Pieter, who’s been through so much himself yet never trivialized her childhood issues, never told her to stop whining about her distant parents and strict upbringing and just be glad she had a roof over her head and dinner every night, never had to worry that her father might work himself to death or feel guilty over her mother picking up another part-time job to afford Christmas presents. Never once has Pieter snapped at her and told her she has it so much easier than him, never once has she sensed even an ounce of resentment from him. Even now, as they pull up to the house and a smartly-dressed man immediately rushes to attend to them, Pieter regards things only with childlike-wonder, not jealousy or bitterness. Oh, how she lov-

“Am I going to get a ticket if I park here?” Pieter asks, only half-joking as he turns to watch her get out of the car.

“Arno will park the car,” Holle assures him as the man in question approaches them.

“Fräulein He-” He stops mid-greeting when Holle frowns at the formality. “Yes, of course,” Arno smiles fondly, shaking his head at his own behavior. “None of that stuffy business, I know. How have you been, little one?”

Holle crosses her arms. “Well, not so little anymore, for one.”

“I’ve known you since the day your parents brought you back from the hospital, kleines Fräulein,” Arno enjoys the reminder perhaps a bit too much, especially when he hears Holle’s mystery guest laughing at the nickname. “You will always be little to me. Now, who is this young man you’ve brought home?”

“Oh,” Pieter sobers up, as though called to attention. “I’m Pieter,” He offers Arno a hand, and belatedly adds: “Holle’s… friend.” The pause isn’t meant to be suggestive, but his new designation does take some getting used to. It’s only been a little over a week since he last referred to himself as Holle’s boyfriend.

“Friend, you say?” Arno’s eyes twinkle with something akin to mischief, and Pieter flashes what he hopes is an innocent-looking smile to accompany his affirming nod. “I’m sure Greta will be quite interested to meet this _friend_ of yours,” The older man smirks at Holle before he turns his attention back to Pieter. “You can call me Arno, same as Holle does. Anything you children want from the car before I take it downstairs?”

“There’s a bag that I-”

“I’ve got it,” Pieter says, waving Holle off as he pulls out a carry-on from the backseat. Holle had packed up a few things from the apartment that she won’t need in England, and the plan is to unload those things and then refill the bag with things from her old room that she does want to bring along. He’d used that as a flimsy excuse to accompany Holle, claiming he didn’t want her to have to struggle with a heavy bag on the train she’d planned to take from their campus to her home. There’d been something about safety too, and not wanting her to take the train at night to get back to her apartment. These all seemed like better excuses than simply telling Holle he wants to spend as much time with her as possible before she leaves, even if that entails eleven or so hours of driving.

“Alright then,” Arno slips into the driver’s seat. “You kids go on in; Greta should be home soon and I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you, Holle. It’s been odd for her, you know: not having you around.”

“And, um,” Holle drops her voice into something of a hushed, conspiratorial whisper. “No one else is home?”

Arno sees right through her. “Easy, little one,” He tells her with a laugh. “It’s a Saturday; your parents aren’t likely to be home even for dinner. Nothing to worry about there.”

“Of course,” Holle offers him a tight-lipped smile. “I should’ve known. Thank you, Arno; we’ll see you later.” She turns around as Arno drives off and makes for the front door. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Pieter nods, shouldering the bag.

“You do know that bag has wheels,” Holle frowns, trying to recall how heavy it is. “You could just wheel it along.”

Pieter waves off her concerns. “It’s fine,” He tells her, and leaves out the part where he’s irrationally afraid he might scratch the hardwood floors. “Now: where to?”

“Well,” A note of concern lingers in Holle’s voice as she looks first at the bag in Pieter’s grip, then to the winding flight of stairs ahead of them. “I thought perhaps you could rest while I get my things. I shouldn’t be long, but you can fit in a nap.” She suggests as they climb up the stairs, leading the way to her room.

“A nap?” Pieter echoes incredulously as they come upon a closed door.

“Oh, come now,” Holle cajoles as she pushes the door open, ushering Pieter in before her. Her room looks exactly as it has for the past ten years but then again, she hasn’t been gone that long. “You’ve been up since dawn and you insist on driving the whole way back. I say you could use a nap. Besides,” She adds, watching Pieter observe their surroundings. “I’d rather not die in an accident just because you’re sleep deprived.”

Pieter scowls. “When you put it that way,” He mutters, setting the bag down at the foot of Holle’s bed. While Holle gets to work on unloading her bag, Pieter mentally catalogues the room she grew up in. It’s nothing like the studio apartment he’s always thought of as Holle’s natural habitat, all white furniture with shades of blues and greens, throw pillows and books everywhere. This room is easily twice the size of her entire apartment, but nothing about it says _Holle_. Everything is made of dark wood and looks ancient, and Holle’s books and clothes are all neatly tucked away in armoires and cabinets. With a distinct lack of any personal touches, this resembles a fancy, generic guest room more than it does a girl’s bedroom of ten years, and something tells Pieter this was no deliberate choice on Holle’s part.

“Off to bed with you,” Holle instructs as she walks by with a handful of books, heading for the bookshelves on the opposite end of the room. “Unless you’d like to have a nice little chat with the very curious and slightly overprotective people downstairs, instead.”

“Greta and Arno, right?” Pieter asks even as he pulls back the covers and toes off his shoes.

Holle nods, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “They practically raised me,” She recalls fondly, watching Pieter settle down. “So don’t let them catch you in my bed.”

With an exaggerated tug at the covers, Pieter pulls them up and over his head. “I’m practically invisible,” He claims, voice muffled.

“Sure you are,” Holle laughs, shaking her head at his antics. “I’m going to get some books from the library. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Wait,” Pieter sticks his head out of the covers just as the door closes behind Holle. “You have your own _library_?” He asks belatedly, posing his question to an empty room. A moment’s thought is spared to consider getting up and seeing the library for himself, but weariness weighs on Pieter’s eyelids and shoulders alike and he decides to take Holle’s suggestion after all.

“A short nap it is,” He mumbles, already half asleep as his eyes close of their own accord.

And a short nap it proves to be, when Pieter wakes ten minutes later.

“Holle, why didn’t you say anything about coming back this week-” When the unfamiliar woman’s voice falters at the sight of a stranger in her daughter’s bed, Pieter wonders if it’s too late to hide under the covers.

Ilona Hensel screams, and Pieter decides it’s definitely too late to hide.

“Please,” He springs out of bed, trying to calm Ilona down. “This is not what it seems, I assure you.”

The woman pays him no attention whatsoever. “Holle!” She shrieks, accustomed to raising her voice just enough for it to carry across the house. “Holle, what in the world-” The girl in question appears then, slightly out of breath and very, very panicked.

“Mor,” Holle puts on her sweetest smile, smoothing down her hair as she regulates her breathing. “I didn’t think you would be around; what a nice surprise-”

“You’re one to talk about surprises!” Ilona fumes, not so easily placated. “You couldn’t have mentioned a visit home when we spoke this past Wednesday? And oh, that’s nothing compared to this.” She gestures at Pieter without sparing him a single glance. “What’s this?”

“ _He_ ,” Holle glares pointedly at her mother as she approaches Pieter, a hint of protectiveness in her as she places herself between the two, “is Pieter.”

“Hello,” Pieter pipes up. “It’s very nice to meet you, Frau Hensel.”

“At least he’s polite,” Ilona crosses her arms and acknowledges Pieter with a curt nod. “Now, can someone explain why I found _you_ -” She points at Pieter, addressing him directly for the first time, “in _your_ -” And here she turns to shoot Holle an accusing look, “bed?”

Pieter can feel the heat of a blush creeping up his neck at the implication. “Well-”

“It’s not what you think,” Holle cuts in.

“Do not treat me like a fool, Holle,” Ilona scoffs. “This wouldn’t be the first time-”

“Mor!” Holle snaps, and promptly lets loose a barrage of Danish words Pieter can’t possibly hope to catch. He’s probably missing some interesting stuff, if it’s embarrassing enough for Holle to switch to her mother’s native language. She’d mentioned a while back that Ilona had communicated with her exclusively in Danish for the first five years of Holle’s life but as soon as she was fluent enough for it to be her second language, her mother had switched over to German and discouraged the use of Danish in front of company as she felt it was rude to knowingly exclude others from their conversations.

Now Ilona rolls her eyes and mutters a few Danish words in return before she switches back to German. “Thank you,” She flashes Pieter a tight-lipped smile. “For accompanying my daughter; I do so hate it when she takes the train.”

Pieter’s about to dismiss her thanks and tell Ilona it’s no trouble at all, but a look at Holle tells him that might not be the best idea. “You’re welcome,” He returns cordially instead.

Ilona nods. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” She addresses Holle. “Take your time with the packing; dinner isn’t until six.”

“Dinner?” Holle echoes, the slightest flash of panic in her eyes. “Oh, Mor, we couldn’t possibly stay. Right, Pieter?” She turns to him for support. “We’ve got that thing tonight, remember?” Holle adds when Pieter fails to catch on. “With the others?”

“Um,” Pieter tries; he really does. “With the others, yes. In the… um… library,” He offers weakly, trailing off under Holle’s glare. She shakes her head at him and turns to her mother with a resigned look in her eyes.

“Dinner,” Ilona insists, a hint of amusement in her voice as she dismisses their clearly fabricated excuse, “is at six.”

“Fuck,” Holle promptly declares as soon as her mother shuts the door behind her.

“That bad?” Pieter asks carefully, sitting down on the bed.

“Worse,” She laughs humorlessly. “I guess you’ll get a proper nap after all.”

Holle returns to the library after that, and Pieter sleeps until she wakes him and directs him to the en-suite, where they take turns freshening up for dinner.

Dinner starts off as expected, with Holle awkwardly introducing Pieter to her father. “Why didn’t you just call for the driver?” Otto asks Holle with a frown as he shakes Pieter’s proffered hand.

“Oh,” Holle smiles as they all take their seats. “I didn’t want to inconvenience Joseph-”

“We fired Joseph,” Her mother cuts in to inform her.

Holle tenses, and later on Pieter thinks he can pinpoint that as the exact moment dinner went wrong. “Excuse me?”

“Ah, Joseph,” Otto says fondly, as if he’d forgotten all about his driver of twenty-four years. “He was diagnosed with cancer, didn’t you hear? Terrible news,” He adds unnecessarily, shaking his head. Holle pales visibly, wondering why this is news to her. But then again, she hasn’t exactly been a good friend lately. When was the last time she even spoke to Heidi? Not since her first week in university, probably. No wonder the girl hadn’t bothered to inform Holle about her father’s condition.

“Yes, and the treatment was taking up so much of his time,” Ilona dabs at the corner of her mouth delicately with a napkin after taking a sip from her glass. “He was barely ever around when we needed him. Really, letting him go was the best choice.”

“You fired a man for having _cancer_?” Holle seethes. Even Pieter chokes on his water.

The rest of dinner doesn’t go any better. 

* * *

“I’m sorry for that mess,” Holle says three hours into their drive, finally addressing the fiasco her family dinner had turned into.

“Hey,” Pieter risks a quick glance at her before he turns his eyes back to the open road. “ _You_ have nothing to apologize for. Besides, dinner with your girlfriend’s parents is never supposed to go well.”

Holle flinches at that.

“Ex-girlfriend,” Pieter amends, his words painfully loud in the confined space of the car. Holle looks out of her window and says nothing. When they stop at a red light and Pieter turns to look at her, she closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep.

She can’t sleep in moving cars; Pieter remembers that from their recent road trip to Spain. Still, he leaves her be and they spend the next two hours in complete silence, until Holle decides they’re close enough to campus for her to ‘wake up’.

“It seems like a waste,” Pieter tells her when he notices she’s given up her ruse.

Holle tries to puzzle out what he’s talking about and fails. “What seems like a waste?”

Pieter shrugs, eyes firmly on the road. “Us,” He says. “I mean, I’ve already made it through the hellish _meet the parents_ experience.” It’s nonchalant, flippant enough for Holle to brush it off as a joke without being blatantly cruel.

She takes the easy way out and laughs.

“Oh, that was barely the start of it,” She claims, pretending to miss the slightest slump of Pieter’s shoulders before he fakes a laugh of his own. “Trust me: it’s best for you to leave now, before my mother starts tracing your ancestry to determine if your bloodline is worthy.”

“Are you saying I would fail the test?” Pieter demands imperiously. “I’ll have you know I come from a long line of brave warrior Vikings, my lady.”

“I’m sure you do,” Holle teases, slapping at his hand when he reaches out to tickle her side. “Hands on the wheel, Pieter!”

There’s genuine laughter then, though Pieter obliges and returns his hand to the wheel even as he pokes fun at Holle for being so easily freaked out. For a moment – a brief, wonderful, perfect moment – everything is as it should be.

And then: “You should ask Madeleine out.”

Pieter hits the brakes with a bit too much force, and the tires screech as the car comes to a halt in front of Holle’s building. “What?”

“From our lunch group?” Holle feigns ignorance, as if Pieter’s just taken aback because he doesn’t recognize the name. “She seems nice enough. And I’ve noticed the way she’s been around you this week, ever since we…” Pieter unlocks the doors then, and Holle’s out before he’s even got his seatbelt off.

“Brunch tomorrow?” Pieter asks as he gets out of the car, trying to redirect the conversation before Holle can persist with this madness. She retrieves her keys as Pieter gets her bag out of the backseat.

Holle shrugs apologetically and isn’t surprised to feel a pinch of guilt over turning Pieter down. Brunch has become a tradition of sorts for them, ever since their very first date; it feels wrong not to go tomorrow. “I can’t; I left all of my packing until the last possible moment.”

That sounds nothing like her, but Pieter doesn’t seem too suspicious as they head into her building. “I’ll see you on Monday, then? Your flight’s at two, right?”

“You know you don’t have to drive me to the airport,” Holle tells him as they get into the elevator.

“I want to,” Pieter insists. “Is nine okay? We can have breakfast somewhere along the way.”

“Nine,” She agrees and they share a smile while Holle leads the way to her apartment. She fiddles with her keys when they get to her front door, trying to say good night to Pieter before she opens the door and reveals her already-packed bags.

“Pieter,” Holle takes a deep breath to steady her voice. “Thank you,” She smiles as their eyes meet. “Not just for driving me today, but for… well, everything. Everything you’ve done for me since we met, every day you’ve spent with me, every boring lecture you’ve helped me survive,” Holle laughs, fighting past the lump in her throat.

“Hey,” Pieter laughs along with her. “What’s this now?” He shakes his head at her before holding his arms open so that Holle can step into an embrace. “Save the good-bye for the airport, alright?”

“Alright,” Holle blinks as she hugs Pieter in return, willing her eyes to stay dry. “Good night for now, then,” She pulls back and pecks Pieter on the cheek, and takes advantage of his momentary surprise to twist the key in her door and slip in through the smallest crack.

“Good night,” Pieter echoes, slightly puzzled by Holle’s odd behavior. “I’ll see you on Monday,” He adds, dismissing his suspicions. It’s just been a long day and Holle’s eager to get to bed, that’s all.

He’s proven right the next morning, when she texts him to complain about how unexpectedly heavy her books are and the exorbitant prices the airline is charging for overweight baggage. They trade messages throughout the day until it’s time to say good night. Pieter double-checks that he’s picking her up at nine, and all seems alright on Holle’s end.

Everything goes wrong on Monday morning. His alarm doesn’t ring, so he oversleeps. Then he can’t find his phone, next his keys. By the time he gets to Holle’s, he’s fifteen minutes late and decidedly caffeine-deprived.

He’s been reading about something the Americans call Murphy’s Law recently. Pieter experiences it first-hand when he ends his awful morning with the discovery of an empty apartment and a letter under Holle’s door, addressed to him.

 

_Pieter-_

_I’m sorry you woke up this early for nothing, but I decided to take a taxi instead. It’s better this way, really: we both know how I get when it comes to saying good-bye. I would’ve caused such a scene at the airport, bawling my eyes out like a little child while you do that awkward pat-on-the-head thing to try and comfort me. You’re already picturing it, aren’t you? How embarrassing._

_Here’s your good-bye: thank you for everything. For everything you’ve done, for every day you’ve made better, for every time you made me laugh or smile or dance – for all the times you’ve made me happy. You know I’m no good with words; don’t make me resort to plagiarism to convey my appreciation._

Pieter laughs then, something warm thawing out the icy dread that’s filled him ever since he woke up to find he was running late. If the letter had ended there – well, the plan was to wait for Holle to come back and change her mind, prove to her that he can and will wait for her every time she’s gone.

But one last line at the bottom of the page, clearly an afterthought if the rushed handwriting is anything to go by, slaps Pieter with the sudden realization that Holle doesn’t _want_ him to wait.

 

_P.S – here’s Madeleine’s number. Don’t forget to call her._

The plan was to wait.

The new plan is to pretend everything is alright and he’s totally okay with the woman he’s in love with trying to play matchmaker, to respect her wishes and do anything it takes just to keep her in his life – even if it’s just as a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry this one took a while; things are slowly getting busier and bossy, impatient real life refused to have several seats despite my insistence. The plan was to crank out two of these bonus chapters a week but the way it’s going, I think we’re stuck with this once-a-week schedule for a while. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this little glimpse into the first chapter of their relationship, and buckle up because prompt chapters are up next!


	9. Nine

**NINE**

**_For ScottishLaura over at fanfiction.net, who asked for panic attacks and pillow forts: the night before DSM is set to go up against the world’s best acapella groups for the very first time, Holle has a rare moment of insecurity and Pieter tries to build a pillow fort._ **

* * *

“The Americans have a saying, you know,” Pieter speaks up once it becomes clear that Holle isn’t about to stop pacing anytime soon. “About wearing down the carpet and pacing until there’s a hole in the floor.”

Holle pauses for all of two seconds to shoot him a puzzled look. “What?”

“Or something like that; it’s never made much sense to me.” He shrugs at Holle, who merely nods at him as she completes another circuit of their hotel room. Pieter reaches out to catch her by the waist when she passes by their bed and holds her in place to prevent further pacing. Holle huffs when he shoots her a pointed look and reluctantly sits down next to him.

“It’s just,” She gives in with a sigh and starts speaking after an extended period of silence, knowing that despite his usual inability to shut up, Pieter is actually capable of waiting quietly all night if that’s what it takes to get her talking. “Tomorrow we face the best that the world of professional acapella has to offer.” Just saying it out loud has her wringing her hands and panicking internally – and externally, as well, if the concern in Pieter’s eyes is anything to go by. “And if we don’t make it-”

If they don’t make it, the past year will all have been for nothing. Their teammates’ trust in her, the lives they’ve put on hold and the sacrifices they’ve made – if DSM doesn’t win tomorrow, what will all of that hard work amount to? An acapella group isn’t the most profitable thing out there, even in an industry that’s seen and celebrated stranger things and elevated eccentric people to millionaires. This is their one shot at making it, and suddenly Holle is painfully aware of the fact that they’ve been at this for less than a year and _how_ could she have fooled herself into believing they can go up against seasoned professionals and actually win this with only a national title and a handful of paid performances under DSM’s belt? Thank goodness Pieter hadn’t been able to talk her into forcing down some dinner; given the way her stomach is flipping, Holle doubts she would have been able to keep anything down.

“You know what the sponsors said-” Pieter attempts to comfort her, only to have Holle put a damper on things.

“Sponsor,” She amends. “Singular. One. As in, the only financial backing we have and will probably lose by tomorrow.”

Pieter takes her by her shoulders and looks her in the eye. “This is not you, Holle,” He frowns. “You have been the driving force behind DSM from the very start. You have been our- what do the Americans call it? Those students with their uniforms and chants and triangle formations, and those ridiculously named confetti balls they use to cheer-”

“Cheerleaders,” Holle supplies just as Pieter snaps his fingers, his memory jogged by the image of pom-poms.

“Yes, exactly - you have been our cheerleader since the very beginning. Don’t tell me you’ve run out of spirit now, Liebling.” He offers her an encouraging smile and takes her hands in his. “The Holle I know doesn’t do anything halfway. You must keep your enthusiasm and remain positive until tomorrow, if only to stay consistent and see this through.”

Holle laughs, a short and dry thing but genuine nonetheless. “Is that supposed to be a challenge?”

“If that’s what you need,” Pieter shrugs, something playful tugging at his lips and glinting in his eyes. “I challenge you, Holle Hensel, to keep that glass of yours half full. For your sake _and_ ours; the team needs your guidance now more than ever.”

“You actually got that one right,” Holle points out, buying herself some time while she mulls over Pieter’s words. "Though it still sounds weird when you translate those sayings into German." It’s true: the team can’t afford for her to start freaking out now. The past year has taught her much about groups of people and how they can influence each other, and the last thing she wants is her panic catching like wildfire and dragging everyone else down. For them, at least, Holle will forge ahead like the overly confident and ambitious Kommissar she plays at being.

Pieter watches her with the beginnings of a satisfied smirk on his face. “I think I got more than just a saying right.” He quips when he’s sure Holle’s come to a decision, reading her like the open book she sometimes is around him. Her eyes constantly give away more than Holle would like, and Pieter considers the notion that maybe she’s _always_ an open book - it’s just that sometimes she reads more like one of those Russian epics she so favors, and Pieter can’t quite translate her into their native German. Now though, she’s as clear to him as the daily paper.

“No more pacing?” He asks hopefully when Holle gets to her feet yet remains mercifully still.

“For now,” She sighs, granting him a small smile of thanks. “But if this all goes to hell, I reserve the right to tell you _I saw this coming all along_.”

“And if everything turns out just fine,” Pieter counters. “I reserve the right to say _I told you so_. On a more serious note, though-” He gets up as well and brings a hand to frame the side of Holle’s face, hoping to set her at ease and cast aside those last few wisps of concern and anxiety clouding her eyes. “I spoke to our liaison, and we’re safe as long as we finish within the top three. No one expects us to win on our first try, Holle-”

“Precisely why it’ll be all the more satisfying when we do?” Holle smirks, a weak attempt at false bravado.

Pieter laughs in delight, surprised by her sudden interruption. “There’s my Kommissar,” He beams, pressing a kiss to Holle’s temple. “But listen: all we need to do is finish in third place, and we’re secure for the next year. And if we keep winning Nationals, I’m sure we’ll be fine until the next time we come to Worlds.”

“I feel like we’ve switched roles,” She mutters, stepping closer to rest her head on Pieter’s shoulder. “You’re surprisingly good at this comforting thing, though.”

“Years of practice,” Pieter explains and wraps his arms around Holle when she remains as she is, figuring she needs the comfort of a hug. “Rahel was a panicky teenager.”

Holle grins. “At least your sister grew out of it… unlike a certain someone who tears through the apartment like a madman whenever he thinks he’s misplaced the keys.” She allows herself a laugh at Pieter’s expense when he huffs and releases her from his bear hug.

“Is this the thanks I get for comforting you?” He scowls. “And it was _one_ time… maybe two. Wait, three. Okay,” Pieter concedes with a sigh. “You might have a point there.”

“Of course I do,” Holle shrugs, leaning in to plant a kiss on Pieter’s cheek when he makes a show of crossing his arms and pouting at her. “I’m going to take a shower,” She declares, stepping out of Pieter’s reach when he tries to tug her closer. “Here, take my phone and no matter what I say, don’t let me call the others in for a last-minute rehearsal.”

Pieter dutifully pockets her phone. “That was the right thing to do,” He intones solemnly, to which Holle simply shakes her head with barely-concealed amusement and turns around to head for the bathroom. The second the door closes behind her, Pieter begins to strip the bed of its sheets and pillows. The pillows go straight to the floor while he assesses the room, wondering if he can hang one end of the sheet on the bedpost and stretch it out to hook the other around the armchair that sits in a corner a few feet away. They’d done this once, years ago, when Pieter rolled off the tiny bed Holle had in her studio apartment. Instead of helping him back up, Holle had gotten out of bed as well and gone about collecting extra pillows and a mountain of linens to construct a rather impressive pillow fort, gleefully informing him that she’d always wanted to do this and what better time than the present? They slept on the floor that night, two college students huddled together like children experiencing their first sleepover, and it’s still one of Pieter’s favorite memories of their time together. Perhaps tonight would be a suitable time to recreate that experience, if only to ease Holle’s nerves.

“What are you doing?”

“Holle!” Pieter jumps, trying to hide the sheet behind his back. “I… umm… weren’t you going to take a shower?” He turns around to account for Holle’s line of sight as she approaches, inadvertently standing in her way when he keeps moving about to keep the sheet concealed.

She sidesteps him wordlessly and heads for her bag, fishing around for her toiletries. “I forgot this,” Holle explains, and Pieter considers it a miracle when she simply takes the small bag with her and retraces her steps to the bathroom without a single word about the state of their bed.

“Pieter?”

“Yes?” He chokes out, dropping the sheet to the ground as Holle peeks her head out from the bathroom.

“Put the sheets back on the mattress,” She orders. “We’re not sleeping on the floor the night before a show. I can’t deal with any additional backaches after that endless flight.”

“What? Pieter gapes at her. “How did you-?”

Holle laughs. “Dummkopf,” She shakes her head, voice colored with affection and fondness.

“I was just trying to do something nice,” Pieter huffs as he begins the laborious process of redressing the bed. “A little appreciation would be nice, you know,” He calls after Holle as she retreats into the bathroom for her shower, leaving the door open this time. That’s an invitation if ever he’s seen one, Pieter figures, and momentarily abandons his task to tease Holle. “This time tomorrow, we’ll be swarmed with groupies after we win Worlds. A man might need some incentive to turn down all of those screaming aca-fans.”

“You’re an idiot,” Holle pushes aside the shower curtain to smirk at him. “But you’re _my_ idiot. Happy now?”

“As a matter of fact,” Pieter grins, “yes.”

She rolls her eyes at his behavior and releases the shower curtain to block her from view once more, and Pieter takes that as a dismissal. At least he’d gotten the last word.

“You’re going to look so stupid tomorrow when I get more groupies than you!” Holle’s voice reaches his ears just as he bends down to retrieve the pillows from the ground.

He laughs and wisely chooses to bite back his retort: _so you admit we’re going to win_. Let Holle have this round.

After all, it’ll be a double victory for Pieter when they return to the stage to accept their trophy tomorrow and he gets to tell Holle _I told you so_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two and a half months. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to excuse that sudden and prolonged disappearance, but I’m really, truly sorry. If anyone’s left, feel free to let me know how much I suck. Also, thanks for sticking around! I know this teeny-tiny chapter doesn’t make up for anything but I just wanted to put something up for you guys. There’s more coming – and soon, I promise.
> 
> I hope my time away hasn’t messed with the flow of this story but my writing skills might be a bit rusty; please let me know if anything’s off or you guys catch some continuity errors. I’d go back and read everything again to refresh my memory but right now I’m more concerned with writing new chapters to make up for lost time. Brace yourselves because we have six chapters left to go (this story will have fifteen in total) and I’m hoping to get the last one up by the first week of December at the latest. 
> 
> Seriously, though: if you’re reading this, thank you so much for hanging in there and I hope the rest of this story lives up to all of your shippy, fluffy expectations.


	10. Ten

**TEN**

**_For Prof. X over at fanfiction.net, who asked for jealous Pieter: Pieter is a reasonable man; really, he is. And it is completely within reason for him to be the slightest bit jealous of an ex Holle has never told him about._ **

* * *

“If you go get our coats,” Holle whispers conspiratorially, “I’ll find some way to excuse ourselves for the night. We could be out of here in five minutes.”

Pieter heaves an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Deal,” He agrees easily, pressing a kiss to Holle’s cheek before he darts off in search of their coats. It’s been a pleasant enough evening but after a week of endless rehearsing and with their victory tour kicking off in two days, he’d much rather be home and catching up on some rest than socializing at Heidi’s housewarming party. And if even Holle is willing to ditch her best friend after a mere two hours, at least he doesn’t have to feel like he’s cutting her evening short.

Traffic should be relatively light, so they’ll be home within half an hour. He can’t wait to crawl into bed and block out the world and all of their newfound responsibilities as World Acapella Champions for a few hours. If Holle hasn’t found a way to get them off the hook yet, he’s completely prepared to walk up to Heidi, thank her for the evening and bid her a firm good-bye without further explanation. Unfortunately, when he finally catches sight of Holle, she doesn’t look anywhere close to leaving. In fact, she’s found herself a new friend.

“Holle Hensel,” A man cries out to be heard across the room, attracting her attention as he approaches Holle. Pieter decides to give her a few minutes before he joins them; maybe Holle will be able to get out of the obligatory five minutes of catching up with this guy without his help. “Would you look at that? A bona fide celebrity amongst us!”

To his surprise, the man – tall and slim, with meticulously styled blonde hair and impeccable style; practically a male version of Holle, come to think of it – walks right up to her and kisses her on both cheeks, and leaves a hand resting on Holle’s arm even after he pulls away from their greeting hug. Even more shocking is the fact that Holle shows no signs of discomfort, despite her general distaste for loud people and physical contact with anyone outside of their team. The man adjusts his voice to a proper indoor-speaking volume just then and Pieter’s left to ponder this turn of events with nothing but a rudimentary knowledge of body language to guide him.

“I see Max finally decided to show up,” Heidi comments, suddenly materializing by Pieter’s side. He hums wordlessly, a simple acknowledgement of her presence. “I wasn’t expecting him to show up at all; it’s been years since I last saw him. Graduation, I think. I wonder if Holle’s kept in touch-”

Their hostess babbles on, as she is wont to do, but Pieter tunes her out and watches in stunned silence as concern clouds Holle’s bright eyes and she steps forward to _willingly initiate a hug_ with the man.

Heidi cuts herself off mid-sentence. “Oh, I’ve seen _that_ look before,” She laughs, tossing Pieter a smirk. “You _are_ handling this much better than I would have expected, though. God knows if that were me, Karl would be storming across the room and making a dreadful scene.”

Pieter finally tears his eyes away from Holle to grace Heidi with a frown. “Why would I do that?”

“In my experience,” Heidi shrugs. “That’s a pretty standard reaction when watching your significant other interact with a former partner.”

“ _What?”_ Pieter demands instinctively, only to cover it up with a laugh before Heidi can figure out that he’s absolutely clueless. “That would be so childish,” He adds in smoothly, throwing in a dismissive wave of his hand. “Holle can do whatever she wants. Besides, I trust her. And I wouldn’t embarrass her like that.”

“Hmm,” Heidi regards him contemplatively. “Holle was right: I  _did_  have the wrong impression of you. Well,” She beams and sticks her hand out. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Pieter.”

They’ve known each other for two years at this point and Pieter was completely unaware that he was still under probation as far as Heidi was concerned, but he plays along and gives her a firm handshake just to placate her while he ponders this new bit of information about Holle and this Max character.

“Oh, I see Pieter found you first,” Holle smiles as she approaches them, writing their handshake off as a good-bye. “It’s a beautiful home, Heidi,” She leans in to hug her best friend as Pieter steps out of the way. “I’m sure you and Karl will be very happy here.”

“Leaving so soon?” Heidi pouts when she spots the coats on Pieter’s arm and connects the dots.

Holle’s lips twist into a perplexed frown. “Didn’t Pieter tell you? We’ve got an early morning tomorrow, and today was quite tiring as well. We’d better get going before this one,” She nudges Pieter with her shoulder, “starts falling asleep behind the wheel.”

“Alright then,” Heidi gives in with a reluctant sigh. “Let me know when you get home. Drive safely, okay?”

After reassuring Heidi that she has nothing to worry about and bidding her good-bye, they head out into the night and make for the car parked on the opposite end of the road. “I can’t wait to get home,” Holle confides as they buckle up, to which Pieter simply replies with a nod as he takes a left and merges into the main road.

“You’re being unusually quiet,” Holle points out after a few minutes of troubling silence. “I didn’t realize you’re that tired. Or is something wrong?”

Pieter ignores her question to ask one of his own, but his words are a pretty big clue as to what’s bugging him. “So, who’s Max?”

Holle can’t help the incredulous laugh that bubbles past her lips. “Is _that_ what this is about?”

“Heidi mentioned that you used to see him,” Pieter mutters, torn between getting some answers to put his mind at rest and just giving this up, painfully aware of the fact that he’s behaving like a jealous teenager.

“Heidi doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does,” Holle laughs dismissively, still more amused than anything else. They’ve never dragged this kind of drama into their relationship, and she’d rather keep it that way. Unfortunately, her words are just vague enough to keep Pieter going.

“You’ve never mentioned him,” He persists. “And in my experience, it’s the things you don’t say that mean the most, Holle.”

“Pieter, don’t be ridicu-“

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Pieter interrupts with a huff. “I mean, I’ve never seen you so affectionate with anyone else. There was a lot of hugging.”

“Oh, stop that,” Holle snaps, realizing that she needs to cut this short before it turns into an actual issue. “He’s one of my best friends, I haven’t seen him in a while and I was trying to comfort him. His boyfriend just left him last week.”

Well, that certainly shuts Pieter up. “Wait, his _boyfriend_?”

Holle sighs. “Yes, his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend now, I suppose, which is really a shame because they seemed very happy together. They were generous enough to offer me their spare room when I studied in Paris.”

“That’s very kind and all,” Pieter turns to look at her when they stop at a red light. “But I’m the slightest bit confused here, Liebling.”

“Oh, right,” Holle realizes. She takes Pieter’s free hand and offers him a reassuring smile. “Max and I were never involved, Pieter. He’s just one of my closest friends and I’ve always felt a need to protect him. When someone from our school started spreading rumors, I thought this would be the best way to let him keep his secret from his family until he was ready. They’re… not the most open-minded people around. Most of our parents aren’t.”

Pieter frowns. “So much fuss over such a small thing; I never did understand that. Did his parents come around in the end, at least?”

“Max doesn’t think it’s the right time yet,” Holle shrugs. “He ran off to Paris after we graduated and took up with Gerard immediately. That’s been his entire life for the past five years; he doesn’t know anything else. I don’t know how he’s going to adjust to being alone in a foreign country.”

Now armed with sufficient knowledge of the situation, Pieter feels his jealousy draining away and sympathy seeping in to take its place. He’s built a life _with_ Holle but not _around_ her; this Max fellow must be feeling quite lost if he’s had his relationship _and_ his home ripped away from him.

There’s not much to say; he doesn’t know enough about Max to reassure Holle that her friend will find a way to adjust. But he _does_ feel pretty foolish for the way he’d behaved. “I’m sorry,” Pieter sighs. “I was being…” An idiot, to put it mildly.

“Jealous,” Holle supplies with a grin. “You were being jealous. It was quite amusing, but let’s not make a habit of it, yes? I mean, we work with Madeleine practically every day and I’ve never made a fuss over that.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Pieter claims, realizing that he never did get around to telling Holle the truth about his short-lived relationship with their teammate.

“Yes, because my relationship with Max was never even real,” Holle reminds him.

“No, not that,” He disagrees, “though I suppose that _is_ true. But I wasn’t actually talking about that. Has Madeleine ever told you why things didn’t work out between us?”

Holle shrugs. “I can’t say I’ve ever felt the need to ask her.” It’s been a little over four years at this point, and she’s never picked up on any resentment from Madeleine. As a matter of fact, she’s only ever sensed good will from the girl, who’s quickly becoming a dear friend and valued tie-breaker whenever Holle and Pieter disagree on matters concerning DSM.

“I’m actually surprised she hasn’t said anything to you,” Pieter admits. “I was worried at first that she’d embarrass me by trying to drop some hints and push you back to me.”

“That’s unexpected,” Holle comments with a short laugh.

Pieter laughs along as well; the absurdity of it all isn’t lost on him. “The truth is, Madeleine and I barely lasted more than a month together. I was too busy sulking over you, and she’s a rather sensible person. So rather than get herself involved in potential drama, she came up to me one day, kindly pointed out that I was in love with you and then broke up with me.”

“A sensible person, indeed,” Holle agrees, a little stunned by this revelation. Well, she’s always liked Madeleine; now she knows why. “You loved me even back then?” She asks Pieter, an unexpected rush of blood coloring her cheeks.

“I think I’ve always loved you,” He grins. “Pretty blonde stuck on the dancefloor with eyes like a lost, panicked deer? Who wouldn’t fall for that?”

“Anyone who values the use of both feet, I would say,” Holle retorts self-deprecatingly, stirring up memories of accidentally stomping on Pieter’s toes with her heels as she tried to figure out modern dance moves while trapped in a sea of jumping, wiggling and gyrating partygoers. Pieter laughs at that, caught up in a wave of nostalgia.

“We’ve certainly come a long way, my dear Kommissar.”

“We certainly have,” Holle murmurs with a fond smile as she recalls their first meeting. Nearly five years later and here they are. Sometimes she wonders which has been a bigger surprise: the unexpected success of DSM or their relationship, a silly little thing between two teenagers that was never meant to last.

Best to put an end to that line of thought before she starts questioning the impossibility of it all; past experience has taught her that such thoughts can only lead down a rabbit hole of _what-ifs_ and _how long until you outgrow this_ and _nothing lasts forever_. Instead, she offers Pieter a smile. “Thank you for not making a scene at Heidi’s house.”

“Holle,” He frowns. “I would never do something like that; I respect you too much to behave that way. Besides, like I told Heidi: I trust you. I might let my doubts get to me every now and again but never forget that I trust you.”

It’s moments like these that Holle holds onto when she falls down that rabbit hole – little things that prove to her that their relationship isn’t a silly little thing between two teenagers and perhaps never was. There is love here, yes, but there is also trust and respect and a hundred other things they’ve grown together over the years.

“And I you,” She assures Pieter, and it’s only then that she finally understands what people mean when they say there’s a hundred different ways to say _I love you_ without ever saying those words. But just for good measure: “You know, I think I’ve always loved you too.”

Trust Pieter to ruin this moment. He hits the brakes a bit too hard and comes to a screeching halt, causing Holle to nearly slam into the dashboard.

“Then why the hell did you try to set me up with Madeleine?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m playing fast and loose with these prompts. It’s not that I don’t love the ones you guys sent in, but I have a pretty limited range when it comes to things I can write reasonably well. Like jealousy, for example. I mean, mostly this chapter turned out this way because I can’t picture these two going all crazy jealous like teenagers. But I’ve also never quite understood or felt jealousy (some have bitterly attributed this to me not caring enough because apparently there are people who WANT you to go through their phone and scream at them about a girl from work?) and I feel like it severely limits my ability to write scenes such as this one. Please don’t take it personally if I mess around with your prompt or don’t write it at all – I would love to, but I don’t want to cringe my way through a chapter while muttering ‘what. What even? Do you even know what you’re doing? Just stop. You can’t write a fluffy wedding. Know your limits.”
> 
> Also, I don’t think I say this often enough: thank you to everyone for reading and leaving such wonderful reviews, especially after my extended hiatus. You’re all so encouraging and kind; it’s one of my favorite things in life. I don’t know what it says about me that a line or two from people I’ve never met can make my whole day and keep me going but that’s just how it is, and I really appreciate all of you.


	11. Eleven

**ELEVEN**

**_For ScottishLaura over at fanfiction.net, who asked for a trip to the ER: The well-oiled, precise machine that is DSM gets a few new parts that… don’t quite fit in just yet. Naturally, this ends with Holle leading a troop of dancers to the ER on a Tuesday afternoon._ **

* * *

As any man in love would tell you, nothing can make a person happier than seeing their loved one smile. Pieter can personally attest to this, of course. The sight of Holle, lips curled upwards and eyes shining, never fails to shape his own features into a mirror image. But Pieter is as much a man in love as he is a mischievous little shit, and there’s no way he’s going to pass up this rare opportunity to unsettle Holle, who stands in a corner with a worried little frown on her face as she assesses the less-than-satisfactory performances of their new additions.

“Imagine if the others left before the victory tour,” He whispers as soon as he’s close enough to do so without drawing attention to himself, just to see the horrified look on Holle’s face.

“I hope that was worth it, you ass,” Holle lands a solid punch to his right arm, her eyes still focused on their new recruits and the mockery they’ve made of DSM’s choreography. “Are you _trying_ to give me an anxiety attack?”

Pieter holds his hands up in a placating gesture, choking down a wince. Perhaps it would be wise to reconsider provoking Holle in the future; those toned arms are good for more than just dancing. “I was _joking_ , Liebling. It’ll all work out, you’ll see. After all, this is only their fourth day.”

“I’m sorry,” Holle sighs, gesturing at his arm. She runs an agitated hand through her hair, offering Pieter a small, apologetic smile. “I just… it’s odd, isn’t it? Ours is a puzzle that was completed nine years ago, but here we are now with missing pieces and new ones thrown into the mix. And I know it’s too early to tell but I wonder if these new ones actually fit.”

As if to punctuate her statement, a yelp bounces off the dance studio’s mirrored walls as a handful of dancers collapse into a pile of flailing limbs. The fact that this is the fifth such occurrence within fifteen minutes does nothing to set Holle’s mind at ease.

“You must admit, though,” Pieter’s quite impressed by how quickly their teammates scramble to their feet and get themselves back into position without sparing a single moment to whine about sore limbs. “There’s something to be said for their persistence.”

“They’re dedicated,” Holle agrees. “I’ll give them that much. And I know they’ll be alright; we picked them over dozens of others, Pieter – I’m quite confident we chose the ones best suited to our standards.”

Pieter smiles knowingly. “But?”

Holle sighs. “But I miss Madeleine, and Magnus, and all the others. I’m glad they were willing to stay through Worlds and the tour-” their swan song, the six former members had called it, “- but a part of me wishes they’d never left. You know how I feel about messing with something that works just fine.”

“The toaster is supposed to work like that and I shouldn’t take it apart to double-check,” Pieter recites dutifully.

“I don’t know how I feel about DSM being the toaster in this scenario,” Holle musters up a teasing grin for his sake. “But yes, that is my point.”

“Alright,” Pieter speaks up after a moment’s consideration. “Let’s think of the group as my car, then. It works just fine, but every now and then it’s wise to swap out a few parts. This is much the same, Holle.” He assures her gently. “We’ve been doing this for nine years now, and it’s nothing short of life-consuming. You and I know better than anyone else that being a part of this team leaves little to no time for personal matters, and we’re lucky enough to be in this together. I imagine the others haven’t had much success maintaining personal relationships outside of our team.”

“I suppose that means this is just the first wave,” Holle frowns, shoulders sagging in defeat. “They’re all going to leave soon, aren’t they? To get married, to move away, to start a solo career,” There’s something resigned and final in her tone, but her eyes are reluctant still as they regard their remaining teammates.

“I’m sure at least a handful of us will still be doing this long after everyone has begged us to stop,” Pieter predicts jokingly. “But yes, I’m afraid you need to learn to let our hatchlings leave the nest, Liebling.”

“They’re not- that’s not what I- ugh,” Holle rolls her eyes at Pieter’s satisfied smirk. “There’s no point in convincing you otherwise, I see.”

“Come along, mother duck,” Pieter accepts his victory with a laugh as he rests a hand on the small of Holle’s back to guide her forward. “Let’s see if we can groom those ducklings of yours into graceful swans.”

If nothing else, their teammates have impeccable timing. At that exact moment, they all come tumbling down like a house of cards – “I took my eyes off them for _one_ minute,” an exasperated Holle mutters – and Pieter watches in some sort of horrified fascination as some fall hard on the ground and others still fall upon those unfortunate souls. Even Holle visibly winces at the awful sound of heads hitting the hardwood floor.

“Alright,” Holle steps forward to take charge of the situation immediately. “Don’t any of you try to get up right now. Who hit their heads?” She counts a discouraging number of raised hands. “Does anything feel broken or sprained?” Fewer hands now, which offers her some measure of relief, at least. But the last thing she needs is for her dancers to suffer concussions, so Holle isn’t taking any risks. The nearest hospital is only a block away and she rounds up seven people who hit their heads and a girl who landed on her arm the wrong way, which might be slightly better than hitting your head on the floor but not by much.

“Those of you lucky enough to have cushioned your fall with your teammate: take a short break, and then get back to work if you’re feeling up to it.” Holle instructs, tiredly pinching the bridge of her nose. “The rest of you are coming with me to the hospital; the last thing this team needs right now is an undiscovered head injury.”

The mention of a hospital trip sets off a chorus of grumbled protests, but a sharp glare is enough to effectively silence them and have the dancers reaching for their coats and gloves. "Hopefully a walk in this biting cold will knock some sense into them."

“I’ll come with you,” Pieter offers easily.

Holle shakes her head with a heavy sigh. “You need to manage the rest of rehearsal,” She reminds him, hiding her reluctance at the prospect of dealing with their teammates on her own.

“Ada can manage it,” The mention of her name has one of their more reliable members hesitantly approaching Pieter. “You’ll help us take care of things here while we’re gone, won’t you?” Pieter asks the girl directly.

“Yes, of course,” Ada readily accepts her task. “We will be alright here, Kommissar.” She assures Holle with a bright smile. “You’ll be taking all the new ones with you, after all.”

“The troublemakers, you mean,” Holle mutters. “Thank you, Ada. We shouldn’t be too long but if we’re not back by four, you can send everyone home.” She figures there’s no harm in dismissing everyone a bit earlier after the day they’ve had. Their next scheduled performance is a whole month away, and it’s not like the original members actually need much practice.

“Come on,” Pieter pulls her away before she can think of any other instructions to leave Ada with. “Let’s go get some heads scanned.”

They do a quick headcount to make sure no one’s hiding, and Holle double-checks with everyone that they’re up for a walk and aren’t dealing with any dizziness that might send them wandering off into oncoming traffic. Within moments they are on their merry way, ten of them walking single-file down the sidewalk with Holle leading. Pieter takes great pleasure in comparing her, once more, to a mother duck leading her little ducklings. Too caught up in cursing the weather, wondering what the hell her dancers were thinking and hoping the ER will be relatively quiet on a Tuesday afternoon, Holle chooses to ignore Pieter’s teasing and trusts that he’ll realize now is really not the time for that.

Explaining the situation to the lady in charge and getting everyone signed up and settled down is its own special kind of hell, but thankfully Pieter steps in just before Holle can snap at the poor lady and manages to get everything settled. His charm isn’t enough to help them speed up the process – of course this Tuesday of all Tuesdays would be the one time the ER is bustling – but at least that marks the end of Holle’s direct involvement in this process.

“So,” Holle crosses her arms, staring down her dancers. “Does anyone want to tell me what the hell you fools were up to?”

“Not particularly,” Klaus, a sixteen-year-old Internet beatboxing sensation and their youngest recruit, offers in a tiny voice. He visibly flinches when Holle shoots him an unamused look, and Pieter tries very, very hard to choke down his laughter.

“Trust me,” Magda, one of their original members, speaks up. She cradles her wrist at an awkward angle, having made the mistake of sticking out her hand as she fell and landing with her entire weight on her wrist. “You’re better off not knowing. It’ll save you the trouble of scolding us, which you don’t have to do because we feel stupid enough as it is.”

“If I hear a single word about this being another attempt to replicate some complicated stunt from a Cirque du Soleil video…” Holle trails off warningly.

Apparently, that’s enough to break Klaus. “We’re so sorry, Kommissar!” He blurts out, ignoring the warning glares his cohorts shoot him.

“Tattletale,” the boy next to him mutters.

“We promise it won’t happen again,” Klaus goes on, his eyes wide with panic. “Please don’t kick us out.”

Frustrated beyond belief – her dancers are the reason people put _do not try this at home_ warnings on everything, apparently – Holle closes her eyes and massages her temples. Pieter slips an arm around her waist and decides to take over.

“No one is getting kicked out, Klaus,” He assures the boy. “This was just a stupid mistake; it won’t cost you your spot on the team. But you _are_ a member of DSM now and we’re going to need all of you to behave that way. Have I made myself clear?”

The shock of their normally easygoing and goofy big brother figure suddenly getting so serious is enough to make everyone drop their eyes to the ground and mumble various promises to take rehearsal more seriously in the future.

Only Magda remains unrepentant; having known Pieter and Holle since their first year of university, it’s no surprise that the act doesn’t work on her. “Ja, Herr Kommissar!” She salutes Pieter jokingly, trying to lighten things up.

A nurse appears and rattles off a list of names, calling Magda and three others in. The remaining members start talking amongst themselves, huddled together in a corner as they wait for their turn. Finally, there is peace and quiet.

“Thank you,” Holle sighs, resting her head on Pieter’s shoulder as he draws her closer. “Sometimes I just get so frustrated with them.”

“Kids will be kids, Liebling,” Pieter presses a kiss to her temple. “Just be glad we don’t have to bring these home with us at the end of the day.”

“Dear God,” She shudders. “What a nightmare that would be.”

They share a quiet laugh before Holle closes her eyes once more to get a few minutes of rest while Pieter types out a quick message to Ada, telling her to just send everyone home early. It’s only three, but he doesn’t plan on letting Holle get back to work after this. She’s been stressed out ever since Madeleine and the rest left at the end of their victory tour for DSM’s second Worlds title, and Pieter knows for a fact that she hasn’t been getting enough sleep this week.

Moving forward without six of their original members hasn’t been easy, even though they’ve had plenty of time to get used to the idea. Pieter knows it was only a matter of time before some of them left, knows that it’s only a matter of time before even more leave to go pursue other life goals. DSM was never supposed to be this sensation it has snowballed into; they started as a group project, of all things. But the idea of performing for a living, of touring and competing and making music with a group of best friends – it had drawn them all in and with Holle at the helm, somehow they’d made it.

And now, quite suddenly, it’s been nine years. They have eight national titles, two Worlds trophies, even a record out and another on its way – these things should have helped him keep track of time. But it feels like all of this has been a dream or a storm they got swept up into, and no one within their little bubble had really felt the passing of time.

Well, that bubble’s popped now and suddenly they’re all adults, closer to their thirties than their twenties, thinking of houses and spouses and children and a career that will outlast this acapella fad. DSM was fortunate enough to have been in the right place at the right time (they were newly-crowned reigning acapella champions when the music industry opened its arms and promised to turn outcasts into chart-toppers) but even Pieter knows this won’t last forever. Acapella rose out of obscurity to join the pantheon of pop, rock, hip-hop and other mainstream, profitable genres, but all that goes up will eventually come crashing down. Now it’s only a matter of figuring out how much time they have left in this industry.

As always, Holle appears to be on the same page. “Pieter?” She asks quietly, putting some distance between them so that she can look him in the eye. “How much longer do you think we can keep doing this? And be serious this time, please.”

He sighs heavily, dragging a tired hand down his face. “To be honest... I have no idea, Liebling. I mean, it’s been nine years. Another ten, maybe? I’d like to think we have at least another ten years left.” Close to forty then, and maybe they’d have gotten around to houses and marriage and children by then. “If the group’s still doing well, maybe we could just step down instead of leaving. Work behind the scenes, lead them without forcing our aging, aching bones to perform.”

“I’d like that,” Holle muses. “It’s difficult to picture our lives without DSM in it at all.” She confesses quietly, offering him a hesitant smile. “When the time comes for us to leave, you might have to drag me kicking and screaming the whole way.”

Pieter laughs. “As your boyfriend,” odd, how that word feels less and less adequate with each passing day, “I promise to preserve your dignity by tranquilizing you and carrying you away quietly.”

Holle leans up to press a chaste kiss to his lips, mindful of their company and present location. “What more could a girl ask for?”

They lapse into silence then, and two hours later finds them waiting on the last of their teammates, the others having received Holle’s permission to leave as soon as they were granted a clean bill of health. The ER is quiet now, empty and darker as storm clouds roll in and rob the windows of sunlight. Holle drifts in and out of sleep but Pieter finds that he’s the one dreaming, dreaming of now and ten years later and all that time in between.

“Holle?” He finally plucks up the courage to speak. Holle stirs from her spot where she's curled up into his side and looks up at him with a sleepy smile.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to work things out,” She whispers, voice hoarse from disuse. Pieter's wide and confused eyes prompt her to explain, with a smile now more teasing than sleepy: “you had your thinking face on”.

“You know me too well,” Pieter murmurs, his words laced with fondness and warmth.

Holle shrugs in his arms. “It is an acquired skill. Now, what’s kept you quiet for nearly two hours?”

“Right,” It’s an abrupt reminder and Pieter finds his stomach uneasy and his throat dry, nerves getting the best of him as he studies the look in Holle’s eyes and wonders if they’re ready for this. It can’t hurt to ask, right? And he’s not actually asking _the_ question, just _a_ question… that might lead to _the_ question.

It takes quite a bit of effort to calm himself and ask her calmly, slowly, clearly: “do you think we’ll get married? You know, someday. When we’re both ready,” Pieter doesn’t see the need to tell her he’s been ready for years now.

Her lips curve into a smile even as her eyes dim just the slightest bit and cloud over with a hint of hesitance. Holle’s always been quick on her feet, though.

“Ask me some other time,” She suggests, her casual words an unspoken promise of sorts, a _yes… eventually_. It’s more than enough for now. “Maybe when we’re not in the hospital?”

“I’ll have you know,” Pieter huffs, faking a show of indignation for Holle’s entertainment, “that I happen to find this _very_ romantic.” It works: her eyes light back up and her smile grows the slightest bit wider, any hint of uncertainty and fear chased back to the darkest corners of her mind. They'll work through that, in time; drag those ghosts out into broad daylight and watch them burn away as he shows her there's nothing to fear when it comes to their future together. Some other time, as Holle suggested.

Klaus comes shuffling out a minute later, all downcast eyes and repeated apologies for the trouble he’s caused. Holle puts on a show of adopting her Kommissar persona and warning him this is the first and only time he’ll get off this easy, tells him he’s lucky no one was seriously hurt. Just as quickly as she slipped into the role, she slips out of it and back into Holle, all gentle tones reassuring Klaus that he’s part of this family now and they won’t cast him out for something like this.

Pieter sits this one out and merely watches Holle instead, fussing over the small bump on the boy’s head and double-checking that the doctor confirmed it’s nothing to worry about.

Maybe he can bring up the idea of kids next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone – I know the last few chapters have been slow and I apologize for that. I’d say the next one picks up the pace but I’m beginning to wonder if this story ever had a pace to begin with. We’re just ambling down this fluffy path, rolling down a hill of cotton candy and marshmallows. So maybe the next chapter doesn’t pick up the pace, but we’ll throw in some chocolate chips to shake things up here on Fluff Street. On another note, I need to stop with the food analogies.
> 
> Again, thanks to all of you for reading and leaving such encouraging feedback. It’s wonderful to be back and I hope the last few chapters will make up for the hiatus. As of right now, I’m still pretty set on ending this after fifteen chapters but worry not! I’ve already got an AU one-shot in mind and hope to have that up as part of my Christmas collection this year.


	12. Twelve

**TWELVE**

**_For GinoChiu over at fanfiction.net, who asked for drunk Holle: Pieter comes home one evening to find Holle clutching an empty bottle of vodka, sitting on their kitchen floor and rocking out to Latin operas because trust Holle to get utterly smashed in the classiest way possible._ **

* * *

Coming home to the apartment he shares with Holle has always been Pieter’s favorite part of the day. There’s something about this place, this shrine to the life they’ve built together, that warms him in ways not even his childhood home can; warms and soothes him, tells him that this is home and nothing bad can ever happen here. It doesn’t hurt that the place is always quiet and calm, familiar and welcoming.

Well, it usually is. Today seems to be an exception, Pieter notes, as he shuts the front door behind him only to be assaulted by the opening notes of Carmina Burana blaring throughout the apartment. The TV, left on with no one to watch it, wages a pitiful war against the might of the music but whatever’s playing is completely drowned out. Holle’s laptop sits on the coffee table, another device left running without anyone around to use it. Given that Holle is usually the one to chide him for leaving his laptop on overnight or forgetting to switch off the lights when they go out, the usual peace that Pieter draws from coming home after a long day slowly morphs into a mix of unease, dread and concern.

His first order of business is, of course, to track down Holle and see with his own two eyes that she’s alright. With most of the lights left on, there are no obvious signs pointing to her location. It’s almost time for dinner though – maybe Holle got carried away trying to cook? The laptop could be displaying a new recipe; the TV forgotten as she dashed over to check on something in the oven or on the stove. And the music… well, it’s always been one of Holle’s favorites so that needs no explanation.

Let it be known that Pieter knows his fiancée well enough to accurately pinpoint her location even in the midst of all this chaos. His guess about cooking, however, throws his desired hundred-percent accuracy rate out of the window.

A crystal tumbler – part of a set, courtesy of Ilona last Christmas – sits unused on the kitchen counter, so at least Holle started out with the right idea. She clearly didn’t get far with it, though – Pieter finds her hidden behind the kitchen island, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a nearly-empty bottle of vodka. Having placed some distance between himself and the speakers in the living room, his ears can now pick up on Holle humming along to the cantata.

The sight is worrisome, of course, but Holle has a notoriously high tolerance when it comes to alcohol. And maybe the bottle wasn’t full to begin with – they’d opened a bottle two weeks ago and Pieter doesn’t remember finishing it. He approaches Holle cautiously, nearing her with heavy footsteps so that she isn’t startled by his sudden appearance.

“Holle?”

“Hello!” She greets him with eyes that shine a little _too_ brightly, making no move to get off the ground. “Welcome home, Schatz,” And there goes all hope of her _not_ being drunk; sober Holle isn’t one for terms of endearment, especially the generic one her mother prefers. “I’d offer you a drink,” Holle salutes him with her bottle, swaying with each jerky movement as she punctuates her words with sudden bouts of laughter. “But we appear to be out.”

It takes great effort to ignore the laugh that tugs at his lips and tickles his throat, but Pieter merely sighs and shakes his head. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s witnessed Holle drunk, and she has never been one to get drunk just for the sake of it. Something’s wrong.

“What am I going to do with you?” He asks quietly, bending down to pry the bottle from Holle’s hands and pick her up bridal-style. The only thing to do now is to get her settled in the living room and help her flush the alcohol out of her system with as much water as he can get her to drink.

“What _are_ you going to do with me?” Holle parrots, lips warm against his neck. “I’m a mess, you know. I keep waiting for you to figure that out and leave.”

Pieter used to think there were only two kinds of drunks: happy ones and sad ones. Leave it to Holle to be the most complicated kind, laughing at her own fingers one minute and then analyzing her emotional baggage the next. “And yet here I am,” He says simply, an easy assurance for her to wrap her head around.

“Here you are,” Holle smiles as she curls up on one end of the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her voice turns soft, something filled with wonder and fondness – a short reprieve from her drunken laughter. “And I love you for it.”

“Now why is it,” Pieter brushes aside a few stray curls and kisses her forehead before he hurries back to the kitchen to get her some water, hesitant to let her out of his sight, “that you only say that when you’re drunk?” He makes a quick stop to turn off the music on his way; it’s starting to give him a headache.

“And when we’re having sex!” She calls after him with a laugh, her voice still raised as if she’s speaking over the music. Pieter briefly wonders just how thick their walls are; they get enough knowing looks and sly smirks from their neighbors as it is. “Don’t forget that!”

Holle regards him with a questioning tilt of her head when he returns with a glass of water and presses it into her hands, making sure she holds it steady with both hands. She ignores the glass in favor of studying him some more, a shy little smile tugging at her lips. “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?” Pieter asks, unable to keep up with her intoxicated brain and the hundred-thoughts-a-second speed it operates at. “Drink? No, you go ahead-”

“Have sex, silly,” Holle interrupts with an uncharacteristic giggle; she shakes with laughter and comes dangerously close to spilling the contents of her glass.

“Oh.” Pieter frowns; the thought of it doesn’t quite seem right, not when Holle’s so clearly out of it. She might laugh and jokingly call him _too much of a gentleman_ when he recounts this conversation later on, but some lines should not be crossed. Instead, he tries to play it off as a joke, lest he hurt drunk-Holle’s feelings with his perceived rejection of her. “That’s terribly forward of you, Fräulein Hensel.”

“Call me Holle,” She waves dismissively, playing along with a grin. “Fräulein Hensel is my…” Holle bursts into laughter. “That doesn’t work, does it? Oh,” She exclaims, eyes gleaming with excitement as she reaches out for Pieter’s arm with her free hand. “But when we’re married, I can say _please call me Holle; Frau Krämer is my mother-in-law_!"

It figures that Holle would only find the idea of marriage exciting when she’s completely out of her senses. Luckily, she moves on before Pieter’s had time to process and react to the fact that she only looks forward to marrying him when she’s drunk.

“Can we go to bed now?” Holle yawns, prompting Pieter to reach out for her glass before she can spill anything. “Just to sleep, I promise,” She flashes him a grin.

“Oh, no,” Pieter replies after a short pause to compose himself. “No bed for you, and don’t pout at me,” He adds before Holle can try to guilt him into it. “That’s your rule, remember? You hate it when our bed smells like alcohol.”

“Fine,” Holle gives in with an exaggerated huff. “Can we sleep here? I’m so tired, Pieter,” She leans into him and wraps her arms around his middle. “Please?”

Pieter smiles at her behavior and runs his fingers through her hair to soothe her. He’s still worried – what could have driven Holle to get herself this drunk? – but perhaps there are some perks to this. She’s adorable this way. “Alright,” It’s not that late but napping with Holle on their sofa sounds a lot more appealing than dinner right now. “We can take a short nap.”

Holle cheers, but she’s too tired to put any actual enthusiasm in her voice. He gets up to turn off the TV and the lights around the apartment while she gathers throw pillows on one end of the sofa and within minutes, Holle is dozing off in his arms.

Sleep doesn’t come to him as easily. His mind is still racing as it tries to catch up to the disjointed conversation he’s just had with Holle, and every word out of her mouth just leaves him with more questions. What happened while he was out? Is she really okay? Why is this the only time he’s seen her comfortable with the idea of marrying him?

They’re going to need to have quite a few serious conversations in the near future, and Pieter can’t say he’s looking forward to any of them. But for now, at least, he can hold Holle in his arms and let her even breaths soothe him and lull him into a restful state even as sleep continues to evade him.

Time passes; how much of it, he can’t quite tell. Holle stirs a short while after the sun has fully set; it’s probably been an hour since she fell asleep, maybe two. The living room is well and truly dark now, and the shadows that hide her from view give Holle the necessary courage that even alcohol couldn’t.

Very quietly, with her face still tucked under his chin and her lips brushing his chest, Holle whispers: “I thought I might be pregnant.”

_Thought._ She _thought_ she might have been pregnant. It’s physically painful, the way his heart stops at those words and the fact that she obviously isn't. So Pieter does what anyone would do in this situation – he pushes aside his own feelings and tries to lighten things up. “And the thought of it drove you to drink an entire bottle of vodka?”

The two-minute pause before Holle speaks again makes Pieter wonder if that was the worst possible thing he could have said. “No, that’s...” She inhales sharply, pulling herself away from him. “That’s not it,” Holle shakes her head; he can just make out the sight of her getting to her feet and running a shaky hand through her hair.

“My period was late – you know that never happens,” Perhaps now is not the best time to mention that he _had_ noticed that (they’ve been working around those four days a month for years now, after all) but hadn’t brought it up because he didn’t want to stress her out. “And then I remembered that I was on antibiotics last month and that might have messed with my birth control, so I went out and got some tests-”

“So _that_ ’s why you left practice early,” Pieter blurts out, offering a quiet “sorry” when Holle shoots him a look for interrupting.

“Anyway,” She gives him a pointed look before going on. “The tests all came back negative. And then I got my period, so that was a waste of money.”

An awkward silence follows her announcement, and Holle nervously wrings her hands together as Pieter tries to make sense of this evening. “So… you were celebrating?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

He knows that the minute the words leave his lips and Holle’s face _crumples_ , for lack of a better word. It’s not like she’s about to cry (this is what she wants, right? Those can’t be _tears_ in her eyes) but on any other person, Pieter would take that look as a sign of an impending breakdown.

“No,” Holle says, and it sounds like a sob. “But yes? God, Pieter, I don’t even know anymore,” She shakes her head when he opens his arms to offer her some comfort, perhaps knowing that a hug would be just the thing to push her over the brink. “I can’t think about this right now. I’m happy and sad, glad and disappointed… and so confused that I-”

She stops herself then, takes a deep breath and offers him a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “That’s why I got _shitfaced_ , as you would say.”

Pieter reciprocates with something that sounds like a laugh, because it’s the only thing he can come up with right now. He’ll add this to the ever-growing list of things they need to talk about, then. And in his head, he’ll keep adding to the list of questions that lurk in the back of his mind, constantly challenging the idea that he’s finally got Holle all figured out.

Time, he reminds himself. Holle just needs time; that’s what she always begs of him, assures him, promises him.

This time is no different. Holle bites her lip; he can glimpse a flash of teeth in the darkness as she tries to move the conversation along. “I think I should take a shower,” She finally declares. “Dinner’s in the fridge; can you warm it up?”

“Of course,” Pieter agrees, a moment too late; Holle’s already scurrying away. When the bedroom door closes behind her with a muted _thud_ , he gets up with a heavy sigh and starts switching the lights back on, illuminating the living room and the kitchen. He picks up Holle’s laptop and brings it along to the kitchen; Klaus has a new video up, some collaboration with a Swedish DJ, and he’d promised the boy he would watch it with Holle and give their teammate some constructive feedback.

He finds the video in an email, but that can wait; for now, he clicks on a message Ada sent him minutes ago, with the subject matter _WATCH THIS IMMEDIATELY_.

When Holle emerges after a long shower, Pieter has just the thing to cheer her up. “Come here,” he waves her over, ignoring the displeased look she shoots him when she registers the absence of food. “You have to watch this.”

“What is it?” Holle sighs, running a towel through her damp hair. “ _A-Catastrophe at Kennedy Center,”_ She frowns at the video’s title. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.”

Two minutes later, Pieter bursts out laughing. “That _definitely_ isn’t good,” Holle quips once she’s gotten over the shock of being flashed by the Australian singer the Internet has identified as Fat Amy. “Shame; I was hoping for some actual competition at Worlds next year.”

Pieter just laughs even harder. “We’ll definitely have to compete with them for media coverage, if this is their PR strategy.”

The next day is a mess of accepting the offer to take over the Bellas’ American tour, clearing out their schedules and coordinating with their team. DSM is supposed to kick off their tour in two weeks and they’ve got new numbers to plan, new choreography to rehearse, new houses to look at because Holle refuses to cancel with their realtor. It’s utter chaos; no wonder the matter of her pregnancy scare doesn’t come up again.

Years pass.

The next time they talk about children, Holle’s suggesting they have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did a fun prompt asking for drunk Holle turn into this? I, um… guys, I don’t even question it at this point.
> 
>    
> I hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving; I spent mine with a couple of fictional German acapella rockstars. It was actually one of the most pleasant Thanksgivings I’ve had. Also, if you went out and joined the Black Friday crowd, please let me know you’re alright, you brave souls.  
>  
> 
> Now, down to business: only three more chapters left, you guys! I’m not ready to let go of these two just yet but I do think it’s time for this story to end. Fear not – as mentioned before, I’ll be back with more Holle/Pieter next month. Until then, sit tight and don’t go anywhere because next up is Christmas with Pieter’s family!


	13. Thirteen

**THIRTEEN**

**_Even impossibly talented acapella gods occasionally find the time to take a break and invite their family over for Christmas dinner._ **

* * *

Pieter finally snaps at her the fourth time he catches her trying to sneak some of the potato salad from the fridge.

“Holle, I swear-”

“Okay,” She laughs, holding her hands up in surrender as she darts away from the scene of her attempted crime. “No touching dinner until it’s on the table, chef!”

“Easier said than done, apparently,” Pieter teases her, a smile tugging at his lips despite his chiding tone. “Why don’t you set the table? They should be here soon, anyway.”

“Seven of us?” Holle checks, setting out the dinnerware her mother gave her a few Christmases ago. At least she’s finally putting all of this kitchen stuff to use – to host a Christmas dinner her mother isn’t invited to. She’s getting really close to giving up hope that her parents will ever be okay with her life choices ( _a degree in music, a career out of this acapella nonsense, a life with that immature boy_ ) and if word of this gets back to them, it’ll probably be another nail in the coffin housing the remains of their estranged relationship. But she’s not going to ruin Christmas for Pieter’s family by forcing them to endure an evening with her parents.

Pieter bends down to check on whatever he’s got in the oven. “Seven, yes,” He confirms, straightening up to stir something sitting on the stove. It’s been quite entertaining to watch him stress out as he attempts to replicate his mother’s traditional Christmas meal. Thank goodness he’d turned down her offer to help; all of this seems far beyond her rather basic culinary skills. “Daniel couldn’t make it this year.”

“How are the girls handling that? It’s their first Christmas without their father, right?” Holle stacks up a few plates and carries them over to the breakfast nook they’d decided on instead of a traditional dining table when they had the place fixed up a few months ago. It’s more in-line with the welcoming, cozy look of his mother’s kitchen that Pieter had wanted to recreate and it sits eight, which is just right because Holle can’t imagine ever having more than eight people over for dinner. A meal for seven already has Pieter spending all day in the kitchen. “That can’t be easy for them.”

“He’s a pilot,” Pieter shrugs, handing her the wine glasses. “They’re probably used to him being gone. A friend of his used to trade shifts with him so that Daniel could spend the holidays with the kids but he finally got married this year so Daniel and Rahel agreed they should let the newlyweds celebrate their first Christmas together.”

“That’s nice of them,” Holle comments, setting out cutlery and napkins on top of each plate. With the kitchen island cleared, Pieter gets to work on transferring the food from pots and pans to serving plates. He might have gone overboard, but they’d both foreseen him whipping up too many dishes to fit on their table anyway. Another perk of having a combined kitchen and dining area is that they can use the kitchen island to set up a buffet. “Anything I can do?” Holle asks, watching him arrange the dishes.

Pieter smirks. “So that you can sneak a few bites of food before dinner? I don’t think so,” He laughs at the glare Holle shoots him. “I’m good, Liebling. Why don’t you go ahead and get ready? Then you can take over while I shower.”

“Alright then,” Holle agrees easily, leaving Pieter to his own devices. She checks on the spare rooms on her way to the shower, making sure everything’s set for their guests. It’s their first time having people over for the holidays but with the renovations they’d commissioned while they were out touring this past summer (thank goodness DSM is still as in demand as ever, despite placing second at Worlds this year), their apartment is finally up for the task of hosting Pieter’s family for three days.

Satisfied that the spare rooms are all prepared, Holle rushes through her shower and the usual getting-ready routine. The doorbell rings just as she smoothes down her dress and she calls out a quick “I’ll get it!” to Pieter. They cross paths as he heads for their room, telling her everything’s ready and he’ll be out in fifteen minutes.

At least she’d had the good sense to skip heels; a couple of golden-haired six-year-olds launch themselves at her the minute she opens the door.

“Merry Christmas, Tante Holle!” They sing in unison, drowning out the muffled laughter of the adults behind them.

Holle laughs and carefully sets them both down on their feet; gone are the days when she could hold one twin in each arm. “Look at you two – you’ve grown so tall! Come on in,” She ushers them further into the apartment so that the others can get in. “Merry Christmas, Rahel,” She gives Pieter’s sister a quick hug. “Hello, Frieda,” Pieter’s mother gathers Holle into her strong arms, standing at nearly Holle’s height. She’s always found it amusing that Pieter got his height and his looks from his mother, while Rahel inherited their father’s average height and blonde hair. “It’s good to see you, Jakob.” Pieter’s father swoops in for a bear hug, voice booming with infectious enthusiasm as he greets her and wishes her a merry Christmas.

“Did you get all of your bags in one go?” Holle asks politely before she closes the door. “Pieter’s in the shower but I wouldn’t mind running down-”

“Oh, no need for that, Holle,” Frieda assures her. “We’re traveling light this year, though _someone_ here wanted to bring along all of his ugly sweaters for a three-day visit.”

“It still would have taken up less space than your make-up!” Jakob retorts good-naturedly, which does not stop Rahel from stepping in to break up the ‘fight’.

“That’s quite enough,” She declares, faking a long-suffering look for Holle’s benefit. “We don’t want to scare this one off, you two; she’s not legally bound to put up with our family just yet.” Rahel winks at Holle before she wanders off to get the twins settled down.

“Well, shoot,” Jakob laments. “We haven’t scared you off, have we?”

“Jakob, don’t insult the girl,” Frieda rolls her eyes, grinning at Holle. “I’m sure she’s used to much worse; she’s put up with Pieter for this long, after all.”

“I heard that!” Pieter calls out unexpectedly, voice muffled by a closed door. Holle claps a hand over her mouth to silence her laughter when Frieda hollers back at her son.

“Maybe if you stop fussing with your eye-liner, you could come out and defend yourself!”

They all share a good laugh at Pieter’s expense. “Here,” Holle finally says when they’ve settled down. “Let me show you to your rooms. Dinner is ready and we’re just waiting on Pieter, but you can take a minute to freshen up if you want.”

She offers to put away Frieda’s bag while the woman keeps an eye on her grandchildren to allow Rahel a minute of peace. After being shown to his room, Jakob thanks her and merely gets his and his wife’s bags settled at the foot of their bed before he returns to the living room. Rahel, meanwhile, takes this opportunity to locate the Christmas presents she’s brought along.

“You’ll have to share with the girls; I hope you don’t mind,” Holle says, leaning against the doorway.

“Don’t be silly, Holle,” Rahel waves her concerns off, tugging at the zipper of a particularly stubborn bag. “There’s plenty of space, especially since it’s just the three of us. I love what you guys have done with the place. You must let me know who you hired.”

“Of course,” She makes a mental note to forward the number to Rahel later, watching the other blonde pull out a seemingly impossible number of boxes from the bag. “Are you guys looking to renovate?”

Rahel stacks up a small pile of wrapped gifts, counting out loud to make sure she has them all. “The girls will probably want separate rooms eventually, so it’s something to consider. And it would be nice to have a spare room, for guests or… you know.” She shrugs.

Holle smiles brightly. “Are you and Daniel planning to have another? I’m sure the girls would love that; they’re always going on about wanting more children around during family gatherings.”

“Maybe, but... Holle,” Rahel shakes her head, an amused little laugh coloring her voice. “They don’t want more siblings – they want _cousins_.”

“... Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” She sobers up immediately, regarding a stunned Holle with concern. “Did I go too far? I told myself I wouldn’t bring up cousins and nephews or nieces. God, I’m turning into my mother.”

“It’s,” Holle puts on a smile. “It’s quite alright, Rahel,” She assures the woman. “I understand why everyone might expect it of us. I’m just not sure if we’re ready yet, that’s all.”

“Now,” Rahel sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her, motioning for Holle to come and sit. “I won’t lie to you: it really is as amazing as everyone makes it out to be,” She beams, thinking of her twins. “But make no mistake: it is a _huge_ decision. And nothing will ever be the same again – some things in a good way, some things in a bad way. If you ask me, it’s definitely worth it.”

Holle nods; she’s heard all of this before, of course, but coming from Rahel, it means a bit more. With her husband gone most of the time, the woman’s had to raise her twins pretty much on her own. And the girls are angels most of the time but Holle won’t ever forget their terrible twos, a stage that had stretched well into their fourth year of life. So if Rahel would still choose to do it all over again-

“Of course, it’s different for everyone so you can’t just take my word for it,” Rahel quickly adds. “But I _do_ know one thing for sure: this isn’t something you can rush into, Holle. Don’t let my brother or my mother talk you into this, alright? Wait until _you_ know you’re ready.”

Before Holle has a chance to thank her, a roar reaches their ears.

“Help, I’ve been attacked by little monsters!” Pieter cries dramatically.

“We’re not monsters, Onkle Pieter-” Luisa protests.

“- we’re little girls!” Liesel completes the sentence with a laugh.

“Oh, but that’s what all monsters say,” Judging by their shrieks and giggles, Pieter must be tickling them mercilessly. “Little girls wouldn’t ambush their uncle!”

The women share a laugh as Rahel splits the gifts into two piles and enlists Holle’s help to carry them out to the living room. “I promise this is the last I’ll speak of this, Holle, but another thing I _do_ know?” Rahel tells her quietly just before they join the others. “My brother would make a great father.”

Frozen in place for a brief moment, Holle hears Rahel walk ahead of her and call out to the girls, telling them it’s time to wash up before dinner. She quickly shakes her head, hoping to clear it of all thoughts, and follows after Rahel before anyone notices her absence.

Still, Rahel’s words echo in her mind every single time she catches Pieter interacting with his nieces. Of course she’s always known he would make a great father but suddenly, she has tangible proof and it becomes a vital piece to add to the puzzle of their future that she’s slowly putting together. It is, perhaps, a bit too much to contemplate over Christmas dinner.

Later that night, with the girls sandwiched in between Pieter and her in bed (of course they’d insisted on having their traditional Christmas Eve sleepover, especially once they discovered there’s a TV in this room), Holle finds herself wide awake and entertaining the notion that one day, they could have children of their own wedged between them on Christmas Eve, counting down the minutes until they can wake Holle and Pieter with excited declarations of _it’s Christmas!_ and hopeful pleas of _can we open our presents now?_ By the time the girls start to stir, Holle has given up on sleep entirely.

Mercifully, the subject of children doesn’t come up again… not until Boxing Day, at least. Pieter’s family packs up and gets ready to leave after lunch, and everyone gathers by the front door to say their good-byes.

“You know,” Frieda begins, a hint of mischief gleaming in her eyes. “We wouldn’t mind sleeping on the sofa next time, or even sharing a room. I mean, a crib isn’t _that_ big.”

“Mutter!” Pieter snaps, crossing his arms and shooting his mother a warning look. “I told you not to – oh, why do I even bother?” He huffs, sending Holle an apologetic look before he wanders off to talk to his sister.

Frieda laughs at her son’s behavior, leaning in to whisper in Holle’s ear. “Oh, don’t take it too seriously, Herzchen. You know I just like to tease,” She takes Holle’s hands in her own and gives her a little affectionate squeeze. Holle smiles and nods while keeping an ear on Pieter’s conversation with Rahel.

“Thank you, again, for driving them down. You know how I feel about Papa driving in this snow,” Pieter says quietly.

“Oh, enough of that,” Holle can practically hear Rahel rolling her eyes. “They’re my parents too, Pieter. I know you feel bad about living so far away but you’ve done more than enough for this family. It’s my turn to take care of them, alright?”

Certain that both siblings are occupied by their conversation and Jakob is sufficiently distracted by his grandchildren, Holle leans in with a whispered message of her own.

“Maybe in a few years,” She smiles, quickly bringing a finger to her lips to keep Frieda from visibly reacting.

They share a secretive little smile, Holle and this woman she’ll probably call her mother-in-law someday. When Frieda finally releases her hands and joins Jakob and the twins outside, Holle looks up and finds Pieter smiling at her, completely unaware of the path she’s set them on.

Holle smiles back at him, perfectly happy to go down this road and see where it leads them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would have gone up in October or something if not for my sudden hiatus but hey: now the timing kind of works out? Speaking of which, I’ll be wrapping this story up within the first week of December so that I can start working on Christmas fics. Also, sorry: I couldn’t help myself with the twins’ names. Consider that my little nod to the rest of the Kommissar fandom.
> 
> Only two chapters left, you guys! Here’s a hint: both involve a pregnant Holle and the second one features a wedding. Since I’m not in the habit of getting people’s hopes up and then crushing them, I’ll clarify right now that it isn’t a DSM wedding – it’s a Bellas wedding. If you guys want to take bets on whose it is, I promise to keep my lips sealed until the last chapter is up.


	14. Fourteen

**FOURTEEN**

**_For ScottishLaura over at fanfiction.net, who asked for sick OTP fluff: It’s raining, Holle feels miserable and Pieter has been up all night. Perhaps it’s time to put the rock star lifestyle on hold and just sleep the day away..._ **

* * *

It’s four in the morning when Pieter finally makes it home; he goes to great lengths to make sure his keys don’t jingle when he unlocks the front door, wary of waking Holle. So focused is he in his efforts that it isn’t until he’s (very, very quietly) shut the door behind him that Pieter realizes his wife might not be asleep at all.

The complete silence of the night is broken by a sharp cough, but the bedroom is surprisingly empty when he reaches it. It’s only then that he notices the door to the nursery has been left ajar, and pale beams of moonlight spill beyond the doorway to serve as a guide. Why would Holle be in the nursery? Why is she even awake at this hour in the first place? It’s not like she’s had much rest this past week; no more than a few hours here and there ever since they returned from their tour a few days ago.

“Holle?” Pieter calls softly when he spots her sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against the wall. She looks miserable, even more tired than he is after driving all night to get home to her. Her face looks disturbingly pale, devoid of all color, but Pieter hopes that’s just the moonlight she’s bathed in.

“You’re home early,” Holle turns to give him a weak smile, too tired to muster up an appropriate reaction to his unexpected return. “How did it go with the label?” She asks, watching him settle down next to her.

Pieter ignores her question for a more pressing one of his own. “Are you okay? It’s four in the morning, Liebling. Why aren’t you sleeping?” When he reaches out to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear, Holle’s forehead feels cold and clammy to the touch.

“Let’s just say that when they call it morning sickness,” Holle sighs, leaning into his warm touch, “they mean _morning_ as in all hours of the A.M. And it’s pointless to sleep if you’re just going to wake up every half an hour to rush to the bathroom.”

“When did that start?” Pieter frowns, pulling her closer so that she can curl into his side. “I thought this was supposed to go away after three months, not get worse.”

“To be fair,” She rests her head on Pieter’s shoulder, giving in to the exhaustion weighing down every bone in her body. “This might not be entirely due to morning sickness. I think I picked something up on the way home. Just a mild stomach bug or a flu,” Holle adds quickly, “nothing serious enough for us to worry about, I think.”

Pieter scoffs. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to go to the doctor.”

“You make me sound like a child,” Holle protests. “I think you’re confusing me with yourself, Pieter. Besides, I wouldn’t put the baby at risk just because I’m too miserable to get out of the house and endure a trip to the doctor-”

“I knew it,” Pieter mutters, earning himself a half-hearted swat on the arm.

Holle scowls, but she doesn’t have it in her to maintain the expression for more than a handful of seconds. “Trust me, alright?” She sighs tiredly. “If I get worse, I promise _I_ ’ll be the one asking for a doctor’s appointment.”

“Alright,” He gives in easily; after all, the only thing Holle’s asked of him throughout this pregnancy has been that he not turn into some crazy, overbearing caretaker. “But you prom-”

With a grimace, Holle shoots up to her feet and claps a hand to her mouth as she hurries to the bathroom. Pieter follows closely behind and makes it in time to hold up her hair while she coughs into the toilet bowl. It sounds painful, but that seems to be the worst of it.

“Nothing left to throw up,” Holle whispers hoarsely as she slumps against the wall, pressing her back into the cool surface of the tiles. “ _Not_ throwing up feels worse, somehow.” She accepts the glass of water Pieter offers her with a grateful smile, making quick work of it before accepting his hand and letting him pull her up.

Pieter wraps a secure arm around her waist and supports her weight as they make their way out of the bathroom. “We need to get you something to eat,” He frowns, leading Holle back to bed.

“Please don’t,” She says immediately; of course he means well but the mere thought of it gives her the urge to run to the bathroom again.

“In a while, then,” Pieter concedes once he registers the disgusted look on her face. He means to get Holle settled in and then head for the kitchen to get her more water and some saltines, perhaps, but his resolve wavers when Holle pats the space next to her. It _is_ four in the morning (closer to five now, probably) and a storm from earlier today (yesterday?) seems to have followed him back from Munich. It’s raining, he’s tired, everything is dark and cold… what else is there to do but sleep?

Besides, Holle needs someone to hold her more than she needs someone to bring her unwanted food. He’ll wake up in an hour or so and try again, coax her into nibbling on a cracker or something. “Just an hour,” Pieter mumbles to himself, eyelids drooping as Holle wraps herself around him and sighs happily.

The next time Pieter wakes up, it’s way too bright to be six in the morning.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Holle laughs quietly, sparing him a momentary glance before she returns her eyes to a book in her hands.

Pieter shuts his eyes to block out the sun; it can’t be that late though, because what little light that filters in through their thick curtains seems muted and gray. “What time is it?” He mumbles, dragging a hand down his face.

Holle shrugs. “A little over noon, last I checked. This is probably the latest we’ve ever slept in,” She doesn’t seem troubled by the fact, and it takes Pieter a while to remember that they’re still on a two-week post-tour break.

“Noon?” He echoes uncertainly. “Doesn’t seem sunny enough,” A thought occurs to him, something about it being dark and cold and – “Don’t tell me it’s still raining.”

“It’s October,” Holle reminds him. “Of course it’s still raining.”

“No wonder I don’t feel like getting out of bed,” Pieter yawns, turning on his side to get a better look at Holle. She’s propped up against the headboard, an empty plate in her lap and a book in hand. At least she managed to stomach something; probably crackers, judging by the leftover crumbs. “What’re you reading?”

“Poetry,” She answers simply, turning a page.

Pieter inches closer, a grin forming on his lips as he nudges Holle’s thigh with his head. “Read me something,” He asks, resurrecting an old practice of theirs from years ago, when late mornings and early nights often found Holle reading in bed and Pieter trying to get her attention one way or another.

Holle obliges him, though she doesn’t bother to start over, merely starts reading aloud from where she left off when Pieter moved nearer and distracted her. “ _There she stood strange like something loaned/ and became merely old and became blind/ and was not precious and was never special.”_

Silence follows for a few seconds, and then -

“What the hell was that?” Pieter demands incredulously, pulling a ridiculous face to convey his bewilderment. “I thought that would be _romantic_!”

“If it’s romance you want,” Holle laughs, skimming through the pages until she finds the one she was looking for. “You’re going to love this: _someday when I lose you/ will you still be able to sleep/ without me to whisper over you/ like a crown of linden branches?”_

“Dear God, Holle,” He grimaces, as though the words have left a sour taste in his mouth. “What sad, miserable person wrote those?”

“Let’s see you do better, then,” She challenges teasingly, setting aside her book and the empty plate. It’s easy to laugh and joke around for now but Holle can feel the energy draining out of her bones and weighing down her eyelids, and the thought of going back to sleep is a particularly tempting one even though she’d just woken up not too long ago after five hours or so of rest.

“I can’t,” Pieter sighs dramatically. “All these years with you have killed every last romantic bone in my body. All those times you wouldn’t let me serenade you in public or shout my love from various rooftops around the world-”

“All those times you were drunk, you mean,” Holle interrupts with a laugh.

“I fail to see what that has to do with anything,” He huffs, keeping up the act for an impressive ten seconds before he gives in to a laugh of his own. “Alright, so maybe it’s a good thing that you didn’t let me sneak into Big Ben that one time we had a fight and I wanted to make some grand, romantic gesture as an apology.”

After all these years, Holle realizes she never did ask – “What exactly were you planning to do, anyway?”

“Hell if I know,” Pieter shrugs, succumbing to a yawn as he stretches his arms and legs.

Holle shakes her head at his absurd behavior, running an affectionate hand through his hair. “Go back to sleep, Pieter,” She says softly, turning to retrieve her book.

“Only if you join me,” He stipulates, pulling her back down so that they’re both nestled under two layers of covers. “Come on, you need more rest than I do,” Pieter reminds her before Holle can formulate a protest. “Besides, this is nice. We’ve never done the ‘stay in bed all day’ thing before.”

“Well, I guess it’s productive in a way,” Holle gives in, not that she needed much convincing in the first place. “If we’re doing this to cross it off the list of things we’ve never done.”

“That’s the spirit,” Pieter mumbles encouragingly as he drapes an arm over Holle’s waist. His nose is pressed against her neck, and she feels his breaths evening out, slowing down as Pieter easily goes back to sleep. She envies him the ease of it, because sleep doesn’t come the minute she gives in to her heavy eyelids.

Images flash in Holle’s mind, so vivid they feel like a fever dream: ridiculous things, like Pieter insisting that he take up knitting for the baby – scary things, like her parents barging in and naming their child after a long-dead ancestor before Holle even gets the chance to lay eyes on her baby for the first time – heart-warming things, like the team offering to babysit and fighting over who gets to be the godparents and vying for the privilege of teaching the little one their first song –

And then there’s a daydream, one from years and years ago, so old that the edges of it are slightly blurred the way a treasured picture fades after one too many times of sentimentally rubbing your fingertips over the faces of loved ones:

Sunlight bathing the nursery in a golden hue as a baby gurgles and babbles happily – the kitchen filled with laughter and squeals from a mischievous child flinging their food around – toys scattered everywhere, creating a trail that leads to a sleepy toddler asking to be picked up and tucked in.

It’s that last image that finally lulls Holle to sleep, the too-bright colors of a fever dream giving way to the soft glow of fading sunlight. She dreams of a life once unimaginable, a life that’s now their future. When she wakes, hours and hours later, Holle half-expects to find a child curled up between Pieter and her. It’s disconcerting at first, but the realization that such a day will come sooner or later brings a smile to her lips.

She turns on her side to face Pieter, only to find him awake and watching her. “Hello there,” he smiles, so unlike his usual teasing grins but just as warm, just as real.

“Hello,” she sighs happily, stretching her arms out as best she can, given the small space between them. “We should get up now.” She’s slept for so long that she’s somehow tired – tired of sitting still and not moving. There’s an urge to get up, move around, maybe fit in a short walk or a quick run before the sun sets.

“We should,” Pieter agrees, making no move to actually follow through with her suggestion. “I think it’s six,” He adds casually, as if they haven’t literally slept the entirely day away.

“How in the world did we manage to sleep all day?” Holle wonders, pulling herself up into a sitting position. That’s one step closer to actually getting out of bed, at least.

Pieter follows suit, albeit reluctantly. “Well, it’s still raining and everything’s dark and cold and awful. It’s perfect sleeping weather, really.”

“You realize it’s going to be impossible for us to sleep tonight,” She warns him, finally planting her feet on solid ground. It’s going to take a minute before she’s ready to stand up but oh, it’s not like another minute or five or ten will hurt, not if it’s already _six_ in the evening. “You haven’t told me how it went with the label,” Holle reminds Pieter as she finally, finally stands up and leaves the bed behind her entirely, heading straight for the bathroom.

“I talked them down to five music videos for the record,” Pieter trails after her, running a hand through his hair. Holle’s the better negotiator, of course, but who sends in their secret weapon during the earliest rounds of negotiations?

“Good,” She reaches for her toothbrush, intent on washing out the horrible taste in her mouth with a healthy dose of spearmint. “I’ll get it down to three. The last thing we want is to be overexposed, like pop stars.” There’s also the matter of them having limited time to finish the record before Holle and Pieter take some time off to prepare for the baby, and she’d rather not waste it all on shooting an unnecessary amount of music videos.

Pieter squeezes her shoulders with a smile. “Business later; dinner first,” He declares; their next meeting is scheduled for three weeks from now, so Holle can work on her tactics some other time. For now, all they need to focus on is getting her to stomach some real food.

So they focus on dinner first, and then they discuss what to do with the nursery’s walls (Pieter suggests they ask Devon to paint a mural depicting DSM’s logo, and Holle is horrified to find that he’s only half-joking) and get to work on relocating all of the breakable and sharp objects in their kitchen to higher cabinets (“there’s no such thing as too early when it comes to baby-proofing!”, Holle claims) and debate the merits of ordering custom furniture for the nursery (because how else can they get a crib with little beatboxers and acapella trophies carved into the sides?).

The evening drags on, and it’s two in the morning by the time they find themselves crawling into bed. It’s raining again, and Pieter curls around her like a space heater, hands cradling the impossibly small swell of her stomach. As Holle slips into that strange in-between state – no longer awake, not yet asleep – the past twenty-two hours begin to feel like more and more of a dream.

“Today was a good day,” She sighs as Pieter presses a kiss to her shoulder, a wordless _good-night_.

“We should do this more often,” Pieter murmurs in return, the way one would suggest quitting their hectic lives and running away to Spain to lead a simple, quiet existence and raise their child in the peaceful environment of a small, seaside village: it’s a nice idea, but Holle would never go for it.

Except… today was a good day. And if this is what it’s like to slow down, Holle finds that maybe she’s not entirely opposed to the idea of it anymore. “We should,” She agrees.

Pieter remains silent; probably asleep by now. She’ll tell him tomorrow that she means it, that she’s finally ready to bring some peace and quiet to their lives.

Until the baby gets here, at least.

* * *

 **EXTRA, EXTRA!** Well, that should get your attention. Anyway – if anyone’s interested, [here's an outtake of sorts (an outline of a deleted scene, I would say) for this chapter ](http://esalvatore3.tumblr.com/post/134593742699/my-heart-is-a-concert-hall-xiv-deleted-scene)\- just in case anyone wanted a short flashback that sort of explains why Holle named the group Das Sound Machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: the lines Holle read belong to Rainer Maria Rilke’s Ein Frauen-Schicksal and Schlaflied, as translated by Edward Snow.


	15. Fifteen

**FIFTEEN**

**_For a-ca-author (who wanted a wedding) and Prof. X. (who wanted Holle helping Pieter with his tie) over at fanfiction.net: it’s happening – Amy’s finally getting married. Pieter wears an odd bowtie, freestyles a rap about sausages and worries Holle might regret not having a wedding of their own._ **

* * *

_Mister and Missus Pieter Krämer:_

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of_

_Patricia ‘Fat’ Amy_

_&_

_Bumper ‘The Voice’ Allen_

_Saturday_

_December the 21 st, 2019_

_We look forward to getting our aca-funk on with you!_

_Formal invitation and details to follow at a later date._

_*A note to the bride’s guests: kindly note that this is a wildlife-free event. We urge you not to bring along (or smuggle into the country) any crocodiles, koalas, kangaroos or drop bears for purposes inclusive of but not limited to: pre- or after-dinner entertainment and/or wrestling. Any personal requests the bride makes to the contrary are not to be entertained._

* * *

It amuses Holle, how easily she spots the various influences present in the save-the-date card Amy sends them two months before the wedding. Clearly, the groom was not to be outdone by his bride-to-be and insisted on a nickname as well. _Aca-funk_ was most definitely coined by Amy, the redhead and perhaps Beca’s predecessor. And the note to the bride’s guests – she can picture the strained, fake smile on Beca’s face as she chirps out these carefully rehearsed words.

She flips the card over to see if maybe the couple had been kind enough to mention a location, but finds instead a message scribbled in the bride’s own handwriting – an eclectic mix of ‘Queen’s calligraphy’ and ‘screw it, who cares about fancy handwriting?’, as described by Amy herself on a number of occasions when called out on the matter of her inconsistent penmanship.

_Bet’s on, Deutschbag. Be warned: I’ve ordered five of those things so there’s no way you’re getting out of wearing that._

“Pieter!” Holle calls loudly, letting her husband know how much trouble he’s in. “What have I told you about making bets with Amy?”

“Nothing to worry about, Liebling,” Pieter assures her before quickly ducking back into the nursery. “I’m definitely going to win this one!”

He doesn’t, in fact, _win this one,_ for two months later they check into their hotel room on the eve of the wedding only to find an envelope clearly addressed to _THE LOSER_. Pieter tries to snatch up the envelope and dismiss it as a joke, but Holle’s had enough. She rips it out of his hands and ignores the nervous laugh Pieter chokes out, eager to finally find out what this damn bet is all about.

“ _Time to pay up, loser,”_ She reads the handwritten note out loud, disappointed to find no mention of the bet itself. “ _I’ve got four more, so don’t even think about ‘losing’ it. Have fun explaining this to the boss lady, Dead Man Walking.”_

 _It_ turns out to be a thin strip of fabric pooled at the bottom of the envelope, which quickly reveals itself to be a bowtie adorned with bright, cartoonish depictions of sausages. The implications are clear: Pieter lost his bet with Amy and will now have to wear this at the wedding. Nothing amuses Holle more than seeing him make a fool out of himself but she keeps that to herself and instead holds up the bowtie in one hand and gives Pieter a sharp glare.

“Explain this,” Holle demands in a tone she usually reserves for her singers when they’ve been particularly unruly. “Now.”

Pieter visibly gulps. “So… remember how I was convinced we were having a boy?”

“You _idiot_.” Gods help her, she's married an idiot. An idiot who agreed to a bet concerning their unborn child’s gender.

“Yes, I know,” Pieter cringes. “But on the bright side, people will probably think it was my idea!” He adds with forced enthusiasm.

“Because it’s absolutely _ridiculous_ ,” Holle points out. “Hmm, yes, I can see why people would think it’s your choice to wear something this garish to a wedding.”

“See? So it’s nothing to-” It takes a while for Pieter to register her little jab. “Are you insulting my sense of style?”

Holle holds the bowtie closer to Pieter’s face and squints at him appraisingly. “It really does bring out your eyes,” She quips, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Perhaps Pieter should simply be glad that she’s taking all of this so well (Holle has become rather… unpredictable, of late. He would never dream of chalking it up to the pregnancy, of course; contrary to popular belief, Pieter does have some semblance of common sense, thank you very much) but it’s hard not to feel like a walking joke with the way she keeps laughing every time she spots the offensive thing. It only gets worse when they join the couple and their guests at dinner that evening and instead of a place card, Pieter’s seat is marked by yet another sausage bowtie.

At least Holle’s gotten over it when they wake up the next morning to find a third bowtie tied around their doorknob; she pointedly tucks it into his pocket but makes no joking comment about his impending fashion suicide.

Remarkably, her self-control lasts up until they’re getting ready for the evening. Holle shakes her head in amusement and laughs under her breath while she helps Pieter with the bowtie, but remains silent until his grumbling becomes too much for her to bear.

“You made your bed, Pieter,” She snaps without any real irritation in her voice. “Now shut up and lie in it like a good sport or I might mess this up and make it the slightest bit too tight.”

“Fine,” Pieter huffs, accepting his fate with the quiet resignation of a man on death row. “But no laughing at me!”

Holle really missed her calling as an actress, because the look she gives him is one of pure innocence. “I see nothing to laugh about,” She claims as they walk out of their room, and Pieter doesn't spot the slightest trace of amusement in her eyes or hear even a quiet, muffled bit of laughter while she has her back turned to him to double-check that their door is locked.

Beca Mitchell, however, shows no such restraint.

“Dude!” She sputters, eyes wide with disbelief when they happen to meet in the elevator on the way down to the reception. “Damn it, I owe Amy five bucks. I thought you wouldn’t go through with it.”

Pieter scowls. “I may be many things, Mitchell-”

“A fool who couldn’t win a bet if his life depended on it,” Holle supplies cheerfully, obliging Beca’s request for a high-five when the younger woman holds up her hand.

“But I _am_ a man of my word,” Pieter finishes with a huff, arms crossed and eyes shooting daggers at Holle. “And I am, frankly, insulted that you would think otherwise.”

“Of course,” Beca sobers up immediately, nodding in agreement and giving him her very best all-business look. “Of course,” She repeats again as cracks appear in her mask. One look at the bowtie has her cracking up again, and Pieter averts his glare to her direction.

“Save it,” The brunette is practically wheezing by now, completely unfazed by a giant (compared to her petite stature, Pieter notes with some sense of satisfaction) trying to kill her with his eyes. “There’s no way I’m taking you seriously while you’ve got _that_ around your neck. Oh, and rumor has it Amy’s got one stuffed into her bra as a back-up so I wouldn’t take that off if I were you.” She practically glows with delight when that last sentence coaxes a laugh out of Holle.

Pieter shudders at the thought, fighting against a sudden wave of nausea. “I will keep that in mind,” He chokes out, acknowledging Beca with a curt nod.

The elevator makes another stop at that moment, and the three of them fall silent as they’re joined by a group of well-dressed people, presumably fellow guests here for the wedding.

“How big is the wedding?” Holle asks discreetly as they make their way to the ballroom, noting that they’re joined by quite a number of people heading in the same direction.

“I lost count after five hundred,” Beca shrugs, and she quickly realizes the American is completely serious.

Pieter perfectly puts into words the reaction Holle keeps to herself: “Good God.”

“Amy says they might as well go all out and party with everyone they’ve ever known, because she’s only going to do this once. Even if it doesn’t work out with Bumper, she never wants to be in the same room with a hundred of her relatives ever again.” There’s a pause there, perhaps to honor the great sacrifice Amy has made because _a hundred relatives_? Holle can barely deal with the few cousins she personally knows. “But hey,” Beca brightens up, having remembered an important detail regarding the seating plan. “We’re at the same table so at least you don’t have to deal with Amy’s relatives - or worse, Bumper’s.”

“Is his name _really_ Bumper?” Pieter asks, perhaps a bit too loudly as a passing guest pauses mid-step and turns to him.

“I know, right?” The stranger cries. “I’ve been asking that for months!” This draws the attention of even more people, and everyone’s eyes fall on Beca, as if there’s a huge, bright neon sign attached to her back marking her as a member of the bridal party.

“Um,” Beca fidgets with the evening clutch in her hands, taken aback by the sudden attention. “Yeah?”

An older woman shakes her head disapprovingly. “God knows what they’ll name their children,” She tells the little crowd, and everyone nods in agreement as they disperse and go back to grabbing cocktails and hors d’oeuvres from passing waiters while figuring out which table they’re at.

Beca shrugs. “So that just happened. Anyway, we’re at table ten, I think. I’ll see you guys there; Amy needs some help with… something. I’m not sure I want to know, actually.”

“I definitely don’t,” Pieter quips, to which Beca merely nods before darting off. She blends into the crowd easily, and is soon indistinguishable from the others. Holle and Pieter make their way inside the ballroom and quickly find their table. As promised, Beca has been seated next to Holle. Engraved shards of glass (perhaps not the best choice of place cards, Holle muses) bear a few familiar names, including Jesse and Benji. It’s been a while since they last met, but the two were memorable enough for Holle to recognize them as they make their way to the table. Everyone trades polite greetings and introductions as the table fills up, and Holle is surprised to find only one Bella seated at their table.

She brings it up later on in the evening, after Beca comes scurrying towards them and slides into her chair just before the newlyweds make their grand entrance, accompanied by some obscenely loud hip-hop track that has the older guests clutching at their hearts and shaking their heads disapprovingly at the couple’s dance moves. “I’m surprised you’re not seated with your fellow bridesmaids,” Holle comments in a hushed tone while everyone cheers and claps for Amy and Bumper.

“We asked Amy to put us all at different tables, actually,” Beca explains with a grin. “We’ve spent every last second of this week together; I love my crazy nerds but we need to be separated before one of us snaps and starts killing the others.”

Pieter leans in closer to Holle to address Beca. “No Australian wrestling, no bridesmaid murders – what sort of wedding is this?”

“The kind of wedding where a German guy shows up wearing a sausage bowtie,” Beca counters immediately, her usual smirk in place as she high-fives Jesse.

“Remind me why we’re friends with her?” Pieter asks Holle with a scowl. Dinner goes on in that manner, with Holle and Jesse stepping in to maintain some semblance of peace when their respective spouses overstep some invisible line while poking fun at each other. Beca is almost as bad as Amy; Holle supposes it was only a matter of time before Amy influenced those around her in a negative way.

Thankfully, Amy makes her way to the small stage set up in the middle of the ballroom shortly after dinner and everyone falls silent while they wait for the bride to make her speech.

“You know,” Amy begins as she rips off her veil and rolls up her sleeves. “When I was planning this wedding, some people suggested that we do the speeches and the dancing and all of that _before_ dinner. Like, they expected me to have you guys sit here and make you wait for food.” The younger members of the crowd oblige Amy with a drawn-out chorus of _boo_. “I know, right?” Amy pulls a perplexed face. “For the record, those people are no longer my friends or family.” She laughs along with the crowd before going on with her speech.

“Um, so I want to say thank you to everyone for coming today. I mean, I know it’s free food and booze so I should be saying _you’re welcome_ , but also thanks for dragging your sexy arses all the way out to Boston and blowing off your families this close to Christmas to come here and get drunk with Bumper and me.”

That’s about as heartfelt as it gets, coming from Amy, and Holle finds herself smiling at the bride. Unfortunately, that rush of affection is quickly replaced by a sinking feeling – a gut feeling, she’s heard it called – that something’s about to go terribly wrong.

“I wanted to say thank you to one person in particular, a dear friend of mine who flew all the way from Germany to join us today.” Holle should have known Amy wouldn’t pass up on this opportunity. Beside her, Pieter chokes on his last bite of dessert.

“She wouldn’t,” Beca whispers in horror.

“You know she would,” Jesse grimaces. And yes, they all know Amy most definitely _would_.

“The man spits verses like I’ve never heard before, which is insane because I once heard a drunk orangutan rapping,” Amy claims, completely straight-faced. “I was hoping that if we clap hard enough, we might get him to come up here and freestyle a bit.” She pulls out a second microphone seemingly out of nowhere and holds it up for the crowd to see.

“Dear God,” Pieter moans as he tries to sink to the ground. Holle grabs his arm to keep him from crawling under the table. “Kill me now.”

“So everyone,” Amy goes on, wearing a grin so wide it looks painful. “Please join me and put your hands together for my dear friend, Count Thuringer Bratwurststein!”

The crowd complies enthusiastically, complete with wolf-whistles and cheers. Amy screeches some sort of battle cry into her microphone and starts a chant of “Brat-wurst!”

“There is no getting out of this, is there?” Pieter consults Beca.

“Fat Amy always gets her way,” Beca grins. “Trust me, this isn’t even the worst thing she’s done. All you have to do is get up there and probably freestyle a few verses. Knowing Amy, you’re going to have to make it sausage-related. I’m sorry.”

Pieter turns to Holle, his eyes wide with panic. “But you wouldn’t let this happen, would you? Think of DSM! Think of our reputation!”

“I told you not to make any bets with her,” Holle shrugs. “Stop being such a child and just go. We both know you like to show off, so go rap about sausages.”

“But the last time I did that, a strange man tried to buy me a drink!” Pieter reminds her with a shudder.

“The last time?” Beca questions with an incredulous laugh.

“Trust me,” Holle adds with a grin. “The man tried to do more than just buy him a drink.”

The applause slowly dies down as the crowd grows impatient with the Count – Amy herself included. “Well, if he won’t come to us, I guess I’m gonna have to hunt him down. What do you say, guys?”

“Don’t you _dare_ let her come here,” Holle hisses, pushing Pieter to get to his feet. It’s all fun and games as long as Pieter’s the only one involved, but there’s no way she’s letting Amy come here and potentially drag her into this as well. “Go!”

“Cruel woman,” Pieter snaps at her as he bravely stands up and marches to his impending doom.

“He’ll be fine, right?” Beca questions hesitantly.

“Oh, more than fine,” Holle assures her with a laugh; he can whine and moan about it all he likes but she knows her husband too well. “He’ll love this.”

Beca doesn’t look convinced at first, but it quickly becomes apparent that Pieter is having the time of his life up there, rapping some sort of sausage menu while Amy provides the beat and the crowd claps along.

“I can’t believe _you_ married _him_ ,” Beca finally says after a long pause, eyes still trained on the duo onstage.

“Trust me,” Holle sighs, torn between smiling back at Pieter when his eyes seek her out and discreetly excusing herself for the duration of the song. “Some days, neither can I.” Somehow, a hand finds its way to her stomach. _That’s your father_ , she would say to her child if the baby could hear her. _He’s an idiot, but we love him anyway_.

Beca catches the motion. “Ever wake up at night from a nightmare that it’s a boy and you’ll have to deal with _two_ of that?” She tilts her head in Pieter’s direction.

“Didn’t Amy tell you?” Holle asks. Perhaps the woman has some redeeming qualities, after all, if she’s refrained from sharing the news about their child. “That’s how he lost the bet,” She explains. “He was convinced we’d have a boy.”

“Dude,” Beca laughs. “He had no idea what he was going up against. Never bet against Amy when it comes to babies. She’s creepily good at it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, she totally called Aubrey having twin boys, even though no one in her family has ever had twins. _And_ she predicted Chloe would have a girl by the end of the year – the week before Chloe found out she was pregnant.” Beca lists off a couple of examples. Holle vaguely recalls spotting a heavily-pregnant redhead in a bridesmaid dress when she and Pieter first entered the ballroom.

“Well,” She tells Beca with a smile. “Now she can add this to her list of accomplishments.”

“So you’re having a girl?” Beca asks, to which Holle merely nods. At this point, Pieter and Amy are wrapping up their impromptu number and everyone joins in for a round of deafening applause. Pieter, drama queen that he is, takes a bow before he jumps off stage and hurries back to Holle. Amy keeps things going by calling Bumper’s best man up to the stage.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” The man speaks evenly as he slips on a pair of glasses and pulls out a folded square of paper from his pocket. “My name is Donald, and Bumper asked me to be his best man because I’m the only friend he has left.” Those familiar with the groom laugh at the good-natured jab; Holle has heard enough from the Bellas to know that Bumper Allen isn’t the easiest person to be around. “So… that was a tough act to follow, Amy, but let’s see what I can do.”

And then he throws his prepared speech to the ground and starts rapping.

“So,” Pieter grins as he returns to his seat. “It turns out this is just a musical _disguised_ as a wedding.”

“I assume you’ll be singing as well, then,” Holle turns to Beca.

“What? Oh, no,” Beca shakes her head. “The girls and I have an agreement: I’ll be a bridesmaid as many times as they want – this is already my fifth time and Lilly’s second wedding is coming up this spring so that makes six – but no maid of honor stuff. I can’t deal with that. But there’s no way Aubrey would let herself be outdone by a Treble so yeah, she’ll probably sing.” She adds with a shrug.

And sing she does. In fact, she manages to recruit the other Bellas while Donald is still performing and they serenade the newlyweds with a medley of love songs. Beca comes back a while later, muttering something about the old Bellas and their awful Madonna/Mariah Carey/Whitney Houston mash-ups.

A few more speeches follow – more serious ones this time, by the couple’s parents and other close family members – and then it’s time for the newlyweds’ first dance, after which the guests are encouraged to join them on the dance floor. Holle lets Pieter spin her around for a few songs but dancing in heels and being pregnant – even if she is only five months along – don’t exactly go hand in hand. Their table is empty when they return to their seats, most of the others still dancing and some already gone. Amy had mentioned earlier, when they’d bumped into each other on the dance floor, that most of the guests were heading straight back to their families in order to spend the holidays with them. Some were even planning to go directly to the airport after the reception.

Holle is tempted to kick off her shoes and put her feet up, but she’s always found that kind of behavior extremely unbecoming. She decides to seek comfort from Pieter instead, bringing her chair close enough to his so that she can lean her head on his shoulder while he keeps an arm curled around her waist. They’re not quite ready to leave yet – there’s something intoxicating about the atmosphere in the room, the sheer _joy_ that fills everyone present as they dance and laugh and come together to celebrate the lives of these two people they’re genuinely happy for. Besides, Amy _had_ mentioned something about wedding cake and a second round of dessert. So Holle settles in to people-watch and enjoy a moment of peace with Pieter before the others return.

“Do you ever regret it?” Pieter suddenly asks. “Not having a wedding?”

“Don’t be silly,” She tells him. “Of course we had a wedding. Dinner with your family and the team, remember?”

“I know,” He sighs, “but sometimes –”

“What is it?” Holle asks with a frown, putting some distance between them so that she can observe him.

“Is this something you would have wanted?” Pieter asks. “I worry, sometimes, that there are things you didn’t get to have, Holle. That your life didn’t turn out the way you thought it would.”

Pieter has the worst timing when it comes to having these conversations but she loves him for it, loves that he’s never taken their relationship for granted. At the same time, she hates that he still questions her choice to be with him, still doubts his own worth as a husband.

“Nothing about my life turned out the way I thought it would,” She admits easily, reaching out to take his hands in her own to provide him with some sort of reassurance. “But there’s not a single moment I would change, not a single thing I regret. You need to believe me, Pieter. Just… listen, this time,” Holle instructs, albeit gently. “I don’t want us to keep coming back to this conversation.”

“Alright,” Pieter agrees quietly.

“Good,” Holle gives him an encouraging smile before she goes on. “It _is_ true that nothing turned out the way I thought it would but Pieter, that’s only because everything turned out so much better. You know how I was when I was younger – music was the only thing I cared about, and I thought it would be enough to fill my heart.”

“And then you came along and of course you’ve brought more music into my life than I ever expected – we’re _still_ doing this, we’re still making a living as musicians and there’s no doubt in my mind that none of this would have happened without you –”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pieter can’t help but interrupt. “If anything, you’re the one who made it all happen.”

“I started this but there’s no way it would have worked without you, Pieter. I wouldn’t have _wanted_ it to work without you,” Holle says. “Now, hush. I’m trying to make some grand speech and you know I’m not good at these things.”

Pieter mimes the motion of zipping his mouth shut, lips twitching as he wards off a grin.

It takes Holle a moment to collect her thoughts. Pieter has never taken their relationship for granted but she has. Being with him has always been the easiest thing in her life, the most natural thing in the world. She’s never given much thought to it, never tried to put into words how important he is to her – there’s never been any need to because she _knows_ how important he is to her and she’s always just assumed he knows as well.

“You filled my life with music,” She starts carefully, still struggling for the right words. This is going to be so – what do the Americans call it? Ah, yes – sappy and cheesy but maybe that’s what they need. “But you’ve also brought happiness into my life, and _love_. I never dreamed of having that, Pieter, never even thought it was possible when I was growing up as a child raised by distant parents and brought up in a world where you married into the right family for money and titles, not love. But you gave me that, and so many other things I never expected. We’re going to have a _child_ and she’s going to be loved and we’re going to be there for her – do you know how impossible that still feels?”

“But it’s not, Liebling,” Pieter laces their fingers together. “You are not your mother, Holle. Ilse will have the most loving mother a child could ask for – this I know for sure.”

“And an Internet-famous father, if the rising popularity of tonight’s performance is anything to go by,” Holle adds with a grin, teasing him about the now-viral video a wedding guest had posted to the Internet mere minutes after his duet with Amy.

“The masses cannot get enough of the Count,” He agrees with a laugh before the smile slips off his face and he regards her with serious, earnest eyes. “Holle, I’m not the only one responsible for our happiness. You make it sound like I made all of this happen but we wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t given me a chance all those years ago. You chose me – and it’s going to take some time before I fully understand why, because it’s not like I was Internet-famous back then –”

She laughs at that, cuts short his absurd little tangent with a kiss. They’re both smiling and she has her hands around his neck, his hand curls around her waist to pull her closer –

Someone very pointedly clears their throat. “I never thought I’d be saying this to you,” Beca greets them with a smirk when they quickly pull away from each other. “But get a room, you two!”

“We have one,” Pieter replies easily. “But we were promised a second round of dessert if we stick around.”

“Oh, yeah,” Beca brightens up as she sits down next to Holle. “Dude, I totally forgot about that. You guys are going to love this. Amy arranged for a dessert buffet.”

Pieter beams like a child on Christmas morning, and quickly gets caught up in a conversation about dessert with Beca and Jesse. Holle adds a few words here and there but mostly, she finds herself watching her husband, smiling and laughing and turning every so often to look at her with such happiness and love in his eyes that she knows, no matter what Pieter might sometimes fear – she made the right choice, letting him in all those years ago.

He might not always agree but that’s okay, for now.

After all, she has a lifetime to convince him.

* * *

_My heart is a concert hall_

_and I filled it with you._

* * *

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, folks: the end. A huge thank-you and inappropriately long hugs to everyone who read and left reviews and encouraged me to keep this ship sailing even as it dwindled in size. We are but a small ship, yes, but you people are the best crew a sailor/shipper could ask for. Read on for my Academy Award thank-you speech but first: check back during Christmas week for a DSM goes to Barden AU (five bucks says it’s not what you think it is).
> 
> Alright, let me grab some tissues before we start this thing.
> 
> First of all, thank you to Anonymississippi (wherever you are) for starting this. If not for her wonderful Liesel/Pieter stories, I would never have been inspired to write for this ship. To inkheart9459, kateinua and Elysionia, thank you for reading and leaving such wonderful and encouraging reviews! I love this ship dearly but I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t have gone on quite as long as it has without your lovely feedback. And to the lurkers out there: oh, come here and let me give you a hug. The idea that any of you would willingly spend your free time reading this and maybe letting me bring a smile to your face or coax out a laugh is just amazing, so thank you for that. 
> 
> I can honestly say this is one of the nicest fandoms I’ve ever had the pleasure of writing for, and I look forward to sharing more stories with you guys. Until then, take care and I’ll see you all around!


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